


We Move Along With Some New Passion, Knowing Everything Is Fine

by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)



Series: A New Perspective [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Feels, Season/Series 02, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 171,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Asterekmess
Summary: With Peter dead, Beacon Hills should be safe, but now something entirely different has started to pick off its inhabitants. In the midst of dealing with midterms and adjusting to being part of Derek's pack, Stiles does his best to keep up with the supernatural hubbub of Beacon Hills.-The second installation in a series of episode-by-episode rewrites of Teen Wolf from Stiles' & Derek's perspectives, including missing scenes, dialogue changes, and minor plot adjustments. Canon-Divergent for Season 2.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & The Pack, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & The Hale Pack, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: A New Perspective [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584292
Comments: 457
Kudos: 197





	1. Episode 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, at the beginning of Season 2. If you thought Season 1 was intense, you've got a big storm coming.  
> I'm incredibly proud to be posting this next installation, which took months and months of research, brainstorming, and careful writing and editing. Big thanks to my beautiful Beta [Madeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_buck/pseuds/pan_buck) for helping me every step of the way!  
> If you haven't read Part 1 of this series, please go read that first. Season 1 is canon-compliant, but there are important changes that will affect how you read this  
> For reading comprehension, please be aware that a Hyphen denotes change in day, while a Page Divide denotes change in POV.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter one and boy is it a doozy. Forewarning that this chapter length is gonna be about average for all the rest of the chapters of this season. You might wanna spread out your reading a lil bit for the sake of your eyes. <3  
> For the sake of brevity, I'll put the rest of the notes at the end of this chapter. Enjoy Reading!  
> EDIT: Wanna give props and love to my beta [Madeline](wizardbuckley.tumblr.com/) for creating this banner!

Stiles went home long enough to sleep, eat, and clean himself up, before heading straight over to the hospital. He arrived just as Lydia was being moved to General Care and followed slowly behind the nurse pushing Lydia in the rolling bed. Her mother was there too, holding Lydia’s still-unconscious hand and eyeing Stiles suspiciously when he got too close, so he didn’t try to follow them into Lydia’s new room. Instead, he settled down in a chair across from her door and waited.

And waited. And waited some more, because even when Mrs. Martin did come out and tell a nurse that Lydia was awake, she only glared Stiles into submission when he tried to stand up. Around noon, Allison appeared looking haunted but eager, and after a quick knock on Lydia’s door, she was let in. Stiles shifted from sitting normally to throwing his feet up onto the seat next to him. It wasn’t like anyone could scold him; he was the only person in the entire hall.

Finally, Allison emerged. Her relieved smile lasted exactly as long as it took Mrs. Martin to close the door again. Then, Allison stomped over to Stiles and yanked him upward by the wrist, nearly forcing him to throw his phone across the sitting area.

“Hey! Woah, hold on—” Stiles spluttered as Allison dragged him across the tile.

She shoved open a door two windows down from Lydia’s room and threw him in so hard Stiles landed splayed sideways across the empty bed. Like father, like daughter, apparently.

“You knew!” Allison accused, eyes ablaze once she flicked on the light.

Stiles wasn’t prepared to fight his best friend’s girlfriend and he threw his hands up. “I’m sorry! Wait, knew what?”

“About Scott!” In seconds, Allison crumbled, bursting into tears and dropping onto the bed next to Stiles. “You knew,” she sobbed, “about Scott being a…a…”

Unsure what movement would be least likely to get him punched, Stiles carefully lifted one hand up to Allison’s far shoulder and said softly, “A werewolf?”

Allison only sobbed harder and tipped into his side, beginning to soak his overshirt in tears. Now that Stiles looked harder, her hair was already a mess before he’d started petting over the back of her head in clumsy strokes. The last he’d seen the night before, Scott was heading over to her place to celebrate Allison still being in love with him even though he was a wolf. Things were supposed to be good now, right?

“Uh, yeah, I knew. I mean, I was the one who told _him_ the night of the party.”

The jump of Allison’s head as she lifted it from his shoulder to stare at him was so quick, Stiles nearly smacked his jaw on her forehead. “What? That was…it was a full moon that night.”

Stiles leaned back a little to nod. “Yeah, his first, actually. If Derek hadn’t stolen your jacket, it would have been his last too. Scott was completely out of it and he headed straight for—” Stiles froze, realizing what he was about to say. It probably wasn’t very comforting to hear that your boyfriend would have loved to have killed you on the first date. “—for a fight,” he finished lamely.

Even through her dwindling sniffles, Allison clearly got the gist of what he meant. To her credit, she didn’t run away.

She cleared her throat and separated herself from him, making a little space between them on the bed so she could pull one knee up. “You have to tell me everything. The truth.”

“Uh…shouldn’t Scott be the one to do that?”

Allison shook her head almost violently. “ _No_ , no. I can’t—I can’t even be near him right now. My dad—he’ll kill him.”

Stiles wasn’t exactly shocked. He hadn’t really expected Chris to keep his end of the bargain in the first place, and wasn’t surprised in the least to find that their deal wasn’t going to extend past the night of its making. After what happened to Kate, of course Scott and Allison dating was off-limits, however much it sucked.

He couldn’t deny that Allison deserved to know what she’d been missing, so Stiles relented. It took over an hour of sitting in the vacant hospital room, answering Allison’s questions as best he could, before she was ready to go back out and face the world. Stiles told her what he knew: how Derek had helped to protect Allison from Scott, how Scott’d tried to protect her from Peter, and everything he’d picked up about werewolves from being around all three of them. He told her what he didn’t know: whether there was any cure, if Scott was going to join Derek now that Derek was an Alpha, and what’d happened to Derek when he was taken. His last point made Allison grimace, but he rushed over it.

Eventually, Allison marched out of the hospital looking a little more prepared for the world she was entering. Stiles wished he’d felt so ready the day after Scott was bitten.

Once he’d returned to his chair, Stiles quickly ran out of things to do. He’d brought his phone charger, but the guest wi-fi at the hospital was spotty at best, and there were only so many times he could handle his page refreshing randomly before it just wasn’t worth it anymore. At a loss, Stiles got up and wandered toward the gift shop.

He bounced between a tiny card with a Winnie-the-Pooh on the front and a cheesy “Get Well Soon” balloon, before settling for the balloon. He wasn’t sure what he’d have even written on the card. How do you apologize to the love of your life for your Alpha’s crazy uncle attacking them?

As Stiles passed the time in front of Lydia’s room, he tried not to think too much about it, especially the “your Alpha” part. Most especially the part where Derek was that Alpha, a guy Stiles hadn’t spent more than a couple hours with at a time, except when he was dying. After the hellscape that Peter wanting Scott to join his pack had become, Stiles hadn’t even waited a day after his death to join Derek’s pack as a human. Was there that much of a difference? Peter had said having a pack made you stronger, but did that count if the only pack member was a human?

For that matter, how long would Stiles get to stay a human? What if Derek decided he wanted a wolf instead and bit Stiles, even though he’d said no? Stiles had willingly put himself in close contact with an Alpha werewolf for the foreseeable future. Who knew how long it would take Derek to get his own pack and until then, what the hell was Stiles supposed to do? What was a pack, other than the murder buddies Peter had been looking for? He hadn’t even told Scott, and had no clue how to bring it up. “Hey, so after Derek stole your only possibility of being cured, I immediately went to his house and asked him to let me into his pack, thereby swearing loyalty or allegiance or _something_ to him and I don’t even regret it?”

And maybe that was the worst thing. Stiles _didn’t_ regret it. As much as it sucked to go behind his best friend’s back, he knew he was making the right decision by allying himself with Derek. For one, if Peter was right, it would keep Derek stable, which meant no more crazy Alphas murdering people. For another, if anything else came up, they’d have actual help from the most supernaturally powerful person in the town. And this way Stiles could help Scott, without Scott having to be around Derek, whom he was still furious with.

It was a win for literally everyone, but Stiles wasn’t so sure Scott would see it that way. In fact, he was positive Scott wouldn’t, so for now, he would keep his new pack affiliation under wraps.

The fastest way Stiles found to pass time and avoid the sense memories from the smell of antiseptic and the sounds of stretchers and wheelchairs rolling by, was to nap. Sure, the hard wooden armrests and back made his neck scream every time he woke up, but it was easier to knock out a couple hours at a time with naps than to overheat his phone by playing games. Besides, Stiles was tired from all the running and threatening and thinking Lydia was going to die before watching Peter actually die. Now he was just waiting to see what the hell Lydia turned into.

—

Saturday turned into Sunday, and Lydia’s mom finally left Lydia’s room, somehow unruffled despite having spent the night sleeping in the same kind of chair as Stiles, to meet up with a man halfway down the hall. He was wearing a green polo shirt and looked so unassuming next to Mrs. Martin that Stiles could barely believe it when she pressed a tentative hand to his shoulder for comfort. That was Lydia’s _dad?_

As the man walked toward Lydia’s room, Stiles averted his eyes to his phone and tried hard not to look like a totally creepy stalker waiting for this guy’s daughter to leave her room. Which he kind of was, but it was for the good of the entire town! How else were they supposed to know whether Lydia was going to turn?

Of course, naps weren’t very refreshing, so Stiles had to take a lot of them. Eventually, he fell asleep again, stretched out over three chairs. It wasn’t until the trash can behind his head knocked against the chair after being emptied that he jerked himself awake, hoping he hadn’t said anything embarrassing during his dream. There had been ice cream spilled on smooth skin and—and now Stiles was hungry.

The sun had finally gone down, which meant it was probably dinner time. Stiles had to count out the coins in his pocket on the way to the nearest vending machine, since the ancient thing didn’t take cards. It was all candy, and candy was all Stiles had eaten for two days, but he wasn’t planning to leave the hospital until he’d seen Lydia or someone dragged him out by his hair, so candy it was.

The mechanical hum of the machine was soothing as Stiles stared through the glass. He yawned and resisted the urge to just tilt his head forward and fall asleep standing up. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sugar. That was what he needed, good, trusty sugar. And what better way to get that, than as a mixture of peanut butter and chocolate?

When the Reese’s packet got stuck, Stiles wasn’t even surprised. Hospitals were the absolute _worst_ , of course they had faulty vending machines. The bright orange wrapper was hanging on by a thread, so close to falling that if Stiles just—he rapped on the glass. Maybe if he—wrapping his arms as far around the machine as he could, Stiles lifted with his legs, grunting grossly at the immense weight. It didn’t budge an inch.

Finally, he just put his hands at the top and rocked, putting some of his wild energy into the to and fro motion. The machine wiggled a little, and Stiles nearly whooped with joy. Then, something at the back seemed to _let go_ and the whole machine was falling forward. Stiles spun out of the way in time to avoid being crushed as the machine crashed to the floor and shattered the glass underneath.

Wincing, Stiles spun around. Nobody there. Awesome, now if he could just get his candy and skedaddle before anyone saw what he’d done, that’d be perfect.

As he leaned down to see if there was room for his fingers under the edge of the metal so he could flip the machine on its side and grab his prize, an ear piercing shriek rang through the building. For all that Stiles thought his ears might be bleeding from the sound, it was familiar and close by.

“Lydia?” he shouted. There was no answering cry and Stiles bolted for Lydia’s room.

Coming up to meet him at the handle was Mrs. McCall and Mr. Martin.

Shoving open the door, Melissa asked, “What the hell was that?”

The room was empty, but Stiles could hear a shower going from the bathroom. Slipping between the two adults, he yanked open the bathroom door and stepped inside before nerves could take over. Water was running, but there was no Lydia. No nothing. Just an open window.

Luckily, the adults didn’t stay long. There weren’t any places to hide in the hospital room, so after a quick once over, Melissa led Mr. Martin out into the hall to call the station. Stiles stayed in the bathroom and closed the door for good measure before looking around for any more supernatural clues.

No claw marks, no fresh blood. Scott had gotten in the shower when he first changed, maybe that’s what Lydia had tried. But if that was the case, why was her hospital gown still crumpled on the floor?

It was reflex to pull out his phone, but Stiles paused in his contacts. Should he call Derek? He should, right? They were pack now, and if Lydia was turning, Derek was the best person to help.

The call only rang twice. _“What’s wrong?”_

Shocked, Stiles lost track of his rehearsed lines. “What? What do you mean? Why do you think something’s wrong?”

_“Stiles, I heard that scream. Everyone heard that scream. What happened?”_

“Oh.” Stiles paused. “Lydia’s gone, Derek. She disappeared from the hospital through a window, and I think she’s turning.”

Derek’s voice changed quickly from worried to downright furious. _“What do you mean ‘turning,’ Stiles? When was she bitten?”_

“Peter—he—he said he needed to get my attention. It’s how he found you,” Stiles muttered. This was his fault. “Derek, if she’s a werewolf…you have to let her in your pack! She—she needs help.”

The lack of hesitation before Derek said, _“I know. It’s dangerous for her to be without a pack right now, or ever. Do you know which way she went?”_ made all the difference. Stiles could breathe again.

He leaned out the window to look at the path Lydia must’ve taken. “Uh, well, we’re backing on the park, so she had to have started out going south, or she’d have walked into traffic.”

_“I doubt she’s worried about subtlety right now, Stiles.”_

“Well, no, but if she _had_ gone into traffic, we’d know about it already,” Stiles huffed. “She left here naked, straight out of a shower.”

Derek growled over the line. _“Stiles, I’ll find her. Just stay there. She’s dangerous right now.”_

He hung up, but Stiles was already getting another call, so he just tapped the screen to answer. “Scotty?”

_“Stiles, what the hell was that sound?”_

“It’s Lydia, she’s missing and I don’t know if she’s turning or what.”

A blast of background noise crackled over the line for a second. Then he said, _“We’ll find her. I’ll be there in a minute. Get me something with her scent on it, like clothes or a pillowcase and come outside.”_

Then that call was over with too, and Stiles had conflicting orders. Derek, his Alpha, which Stiles assumed was something like a boss, had told him to stay put. Admittedly, the last few times Scott had gone missing, Derek had found him, no problem. But this wasn’t Scott, this was Lydia, and she was probably scared out of her mind—not to mention, naked—without a clue what was going on. At least Scott had heard the word _werewolf_ before he grew fangs.

Scott was offering to _help_ Stiles find her. So he wouldn’t be stuck in the hospital worrying. Action was a lot more appealing than patience right now.

Scooping up Lydia’s gown and flinching at the bloodstain on it, Stiles rolled it up into as small a ball as he could. Now he just had to get out of the hospital without anyone noticing him stealing bloody clothes.

He was barely out of her room when Stiles heard his dad’s voice. “Naked? As in nude?”

“I’m pretty sure they mean the same thing, but, yes. As far as we know she left here clothing-optional,” Melissa responded.

Stiles ducked around an officer in the hall with a confident _I’m totally supposed to be here_ grin and held his bundle behind his back.

“All right, you checked the whole hospital, right?”

“Every last corner.”

“Nothing suspicious?”

“Nothing, she just took off.”

They came into view finally, around another corner. Melissa, Mr. Martin, his dad, and another officer. As Stiles was coming up, his dad ordered, “Let’s get an APB out on a fifteen-year-old redhead. Any other descriptors?”

Not thinking, Stiles ducked into his father’s view. “Five foot three, green eyes, fair-skinned, and her hair is actually strawberry blonde.”

He’d texted his dad a couple times over the last two days to let him know where he was, and subsequently ignored the orders to go home after the twelve hour mark. Since his dad had been on fourteen-hour shifts trying to deal with the string of murders that had ended with Kate Argent’s death and putting to rights the Hale arson case file, he wasn’t exactly able to do much about Stiles’ disobedience. Until now.

“Is that right?” his dad asked nonchalantly.

“Yep.”

With a firm grasp on Stiles’ scruff, his dad pulled him away from the others. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

Smiling nervously, Stiles offered, “Providing moral support?”

Noah smiled grimly. “Uh huh. How about you provide your ass back home where you should be?”

Stiles nodded. “Okay, I can do that too.”

“Yeah,” his dad whispered, pushing him toward the front doors.

It was an accidental, but perfect ruse. His dad had inadvertently pushed him past every other person who might’ve noticed his bundle and right to freedom. Outside, Scott was waiting in the Jeep’s passenger seat.

As he climbed in, Stiles passed the gown over.

“This is the one she was _just_ wearing?” Scott confirmed, rolling it in his hands for a second.

Stiles nodded, but couldn’t quite find the words. He knew Derek was out there, that the police would be out there, that he and Scott were going to be looking too. But who would find her first?

Scott nudged him with a hand. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt her. Not again.”

In the rush of everything, and then Scott’s roller coaster with Allison just after, Stiles hadn’t actually had the chance to explain _why_ Peter had gone after Lydia. All Scott knew was that he’d been with Allison and Lydia had gotten hurt. He didn’t know it was because of Stiles, or that Stiles was the one Peter had been looking for the whole week. Stiles wasn’t quite sure how to tell him that, either.

“All right, just shove the thing in your face and let’s find her.” Stiles turned on the ignition. He’d left his headlights on when he arrived at the hospital and they blinked back on with the engine, lighting up Allison’s face as she ran toward them. Startled, Stiles jerked away from the steering wheel, “Woah!”

Allison ran up to Scott’s side and Scott leaned through the open window. “What are you doing here? Someone’s going to see us.”

“I don’t care. She is my best friend and we need to find her before they do,” Allison scolded.

Scott nodded at her. “I can find her before the cops can.”

“How about before my father does?”

Stiles’ heart sank. “He knows?” This was bad. This was so bad.

“Yeah. I just saw him and three other guys leave my house in two SUV’s.”

Sighing, Scott turned to Stiles. “Search party.”

“It’s more like a hunting party,” Allison corrected.

She looked at Scott pointedly until he popped open the door with a, “Get in.” Sliding over Scott’s lap and into the middle of the back, Allison didn’t get to have a seatbelt. Instead she just held on to the backs of their chairs to keep herself steady as Stiles pulled out of the parking lot.

He was losing it, just slightly. “What’re they going to do if they find her?”

“I don’t know.”

“But if she’s turning, would they actually kill her?”

Allison huffed. “I don’t _know_. They won’t tell me anything, okay? All they say is we’ll talk after Kate’s funeral when the others get here.”

“What others?”

“I don’t—they won’t tell me that either.”

Smacking the steering wheel, Stiles tried to keep from snapping at her. It wasn’t Allison’s fault that her parents were nuts. “Okay, your family’s got some serious communication issues to work on. Scott, are we going the right way?”

Scott had the top half of his body stuck most of the way out the window with his nose to the wind. Stiles didn’t know how he was smelling _anything_ at this speed, but he couldn’t bring himself to slow down.

“Take the next right,” Scott shouted.

He led them to the Preserve, of course he did. Why did everything bad have to happen at the Preserve?

As they got closer to the Hale house, Stiles’ heart lifted. Maybe Derek had already found her and was just calming her down. After all, Lydia had never been here before, as far as Stiles knew. He took the lead going up the hill, staring hard at the house. He didn’t see Derek’s car…but maybe he hadn’t been able to get her into it?

“Maybe she came here on instinct, like she was looking for Derek,” Allison suggested behind him.

Slowly, Scott said, “You mean…looking for an Alpha.”

He didn’t sound bitter, per se, but he clearly wasn’t happy about calling Derek an Alpha. Stiles couldn’t blame him either, considering the last Alpha they’d met.

“Wolves need a pack, right?”

Now Scott was almost indignant. “Not all of them.”

“But would _she_ have been drawn to an Alpha?” Allison insisted. “Is it an instinct to be part of a pack?”

Stiles paused and turned back when Scott said, “Yeah, we’re—we’re stronger in packs.”

Where had he learned that? Peter, maybe?

Allison nodded. “Like, strength in numbers.”

“No, like—like, literally. Stronger, faster, better in every way.”

That, Stiles hadn’t known.

“Is that the same for an Alpha?” Allison asked.

“Yeah, it’ll make Derek stronger too.”

But that wasn’t a bad thing, the way Scott was making it sound. If Derek had Lydia as a Beta, then she’d have someone to teach her what to do right from the start. Plus, Derek would be stronger, enough to keep both of them safe from the hunters that were currently out looking for Lydia. Again, Stiles wondered how different it was since he was human. Was it more of an honorary thing, or did he offer Derek some kind of power boost as well? It’d be cool to help, at least.

Stiles still hadn’t heard any sounds from the house, and clearly Scott hadn’t either if he wasn’t saying anything. Looking around the ground for something Scott could sniff or follow, Stiles saw a reflection in the leaves. A long thin wire was stretched between two thin trunks, about a foot off the ground.

“Woah, hey, look at this.”

He glanced back and Allison was already moving toward him. “You see this?” He pointed down and ran his fingers over the line. “I think it’s a trip-wire.”

Ever curious, Stiles tugged the wire up and heard some kind of trigger snap.

“Stiles?” Scott said.

Stiles hummed and twisted. “Yeah, buddy? Oh…”

Scott was hanging upside down, the leg of his jeans pulled tight around his ankle where a thick cord was wrapped. His jacket hung around his elbows as he gestured. “Next time you see a trip-wire, don’t trip it.”

At his side, Allison stifled a giggle, and Stiles coughed to cover his own. “Yeah, noted.”

He shared a sigh and a glance with her before they stepped forward to release their boy. It was nice to have someone to witness all Scott’s weirdness with him.

Suddenly, Scott threw his hands up. “Wait, wait, wait!” Immediately, Stiles and Allison froze. “Someone’s coming. Hide!”

Okay, hide, but where? Stiles looked around to find which direction was safe, but Scott waved his hands in the direction they’d come in from and hissed, “Go!”

Stiles grabbed at Allison’s shoulders to keep her close as they skittered down the hill they’d just climbed and went to hide behind a massive tree trunk. A few seconds later, Stiles could hear leaves shuffling across the clearing.

“Scott.”

“Mr. Argent.”

“How are you doing?” Chris Argent spoke casually, like he was talking to a friend, but beside Stiles, Allison’s eyes were wide and fearful. Stiles remembered their conversation at the hospital.

Though his voice was getting a little nasally from being upside down, Scott seemed pretty calm. “Good, just, you know. Hangin’ out.” There was an awkward pause. “Is this one of yours? It’s…ah…good. Nice design. Very constricting.”

“What are you doing out here, Scott?”

“Looking for my friend,” Scott admitted softly.

Chris sighed. “Ah, that’s right. Lydia’s in your group now, isn’t she? Part of the clique, is that the word you use?”

His voice was still remarkably casual, almost gentle even.

“Or is there another way to put it?” Chris continued. His tone went sharp. “Part of your pack?”

Scott’s voice changed in tandem. “Actually, clique sounds about right to me.”

“I hope so. Because I know she’s a friend of Allison’s and one special circumstance, such as yourself, one, I can handle. Not two.”

He kept talking, but Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to keep listening. Allison had started out shaking as if from the cold, but now she’d gone tense. Slowly, Stiles reached for her arm and squeezed it a little. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to listen to his dad threaten to kill his friends.

As soon as the footsteps retreated, Allison went back to Scott and leaned over him a little.

“You okay?”

“It’s just another life-threatening conversation with your dad,” Scott joked, but there was a hint of resignation that made Stiles frown.

Allison looked around for something and when she found it, she called Stiles over to help her release the snare. He’d just found the trigger when the cord at the top loosened dramatically and a small thud sounded behind them.

“Thanks, but I think I got it,” Scott said.

Allison was immediately charmed, but Stiles squinted at the cord. What use was a werewolf trap, if they could just cut themselves right out of it?

They didn’t search the whole house. Scott swore he could smell Lydia in the living room, but that after that the scent faded away before it even got to the stairs. To Stiles’ surprise, he also didn’t make note of Stiles’ scent being there. Maybe two days was enough time for it to fade?

He resisted the urge to text or call Derek until after he’d dropped both Scott and Allison off, in that order, but as soon as he was alone in his car and headed home to beat his dad, he pulled up the contact.

“Did you find her?”

_“Stiles, if I found her I would have told you.”_

“Well, what _did_ you find?”

_“I caught her scent a little ways into the Preserve, near the highway, but it disappeared before I could get to her.”_

Stiles groaned at the second failure of the night. “Well, we have to hurry. The hunters are looking for her too. She was at your house though, that wasn’t your doing?”

_“What? No, she wasn’t.”_

“Uh, yeah, she was. Scott tracked her there tonight.”

The growl in his ear reminded Stiles of his rule breaking and he winced as Derek snapped, _“You went looking for her? I told you to stay away! She’s dangerous. And it’s not just her out there. I had to chase off another wolf tonight at the cemetery who didn’t hear me the first time I told him to leave.”_

Parking in front of his house, Stiles was finally able to take his other hand off the wheel and flail. “Wait, seriously? Another werewolf? Not Lydia?”

_“Not Lydia. He was looking for a pack.”_

“Oh, why didn’t you say yes?”

_“I won’t have wolves in my pack that eat human meat.”_

Stiles choked on his own spit. “Excuse me? He was a people eater?”

 _“Dead people only, but it’s a sign that an Omega is too far gone to be properly integrated into a pack,”_ Derek said. He sounded put out, which made sense. His first chance to add to his pack and it was someone that munched on dead bodies.

“Wait, you’re not saying—you said you were at the cemetery. He didn’t—Oh gross,” Stiles covered his eyes and nearly tripped as he tried to get out of the Jeep.

Derek chuckled darkly. _“It was just a liver. Most nutritious part of the body.”_

Stiles groaned, “No, stop. I’ve had nothing but candy for two days and I don’t wanna lose it.”

_“Go eat something, Stiles.”_

“Yeah, yeah. So, oh-Alpha-mine, how’re the new contacts treating you?” Stiles unlocked his front door and stepped in, heading straight for the fridge. He could swear there was at least one leftover that didn’t need to be thrown out.

There was silence for a moment, so Stiles poked and sniffed at a couple takeout boxes before tossing them in the trash.

Finally, _“I’m fine, Stiles.”_

“Oh, come on, you’re gonna have to give me more than that. Isn’t that how this whole pack thing works?” Even though he was sure he was alone in the house, Stiles looked around himself one more time. The last thing he needed was his dad thinking he’d joined a gang.

 _“It’s not your job to worry,”_ Derek muttered.

Stiles steamrolled over him. “You’re gonna have to give me the low-down on how this stuff is supposed to go. I mean, how am I supposed to be a decent proto-pack member if I don’t know what to do?”

Ah ha! Leftover veggies and rice that he hadn’t been able to make his dad eat. It would be better hot, but Stiles couldn’t be bothered. He leaned against the counter and shoved a piece of broccoli in his mouth.

_“Proto-pack member?”_

“Yeah,” Stiles normally would’ve just talked through his food, but he actually chewed and swallowed before continuing. Werewolf ears probably made open mouth chewing _awful_. “Cus’ I’m like a test drive, for when you get a real one.”

_“Stiles, that’s not how it works. This isn’t a game. You’re not test anything. You’re just pack.”_

“Oh.” Stiles munched on a piece of squash.

_“Yeah, oh. Now go to bed.”_

“It’s like eleven o’clock! And I’m eating! You’re not my real dad!” To prove it, Stiles crunched down on a not-quite-cooked carrot and made various fake eating noises.

Derek hung up, and Stiles spent the next couple minutes cackling while he ate.

That was…surprisingly easy. Derek had even laughed, though it was at Stiles’ expense. If being pack meant having one more person to call on for backup in a fight, in exchange for occasional phone checkups and banter, Stiles was up for it. Maybe Scott’d be more interested in it, if he knew how simple it was.

It wasn’t until Stiles’d finished off his food and climbed into bed that he realized what Derek’d said. Stiles wasn’t just temporary, there to keep him sane until Derek found a real pack, like he’d thought. Was the pack thing permanent? Had Stiles actually just joined a gang?

—

“He ate the liver?” Scott repeated the next morning, shifting his backpack uncomfortably on his shoulder.

“Apparently, it’s the most nutritious part of the body,” Stiles mocked.

Scott stopped. “And Derek just called you to tell you about this random werewolf?”

“Well, yeah. He was looking for Lydia too, you know. He wanted to warn us.”

It was just a tiny lie, just enough of one to keep Scott from finding out too much. Stiles had to figure out what the hell he was going to say when telling Scott about the pack thing. Now that he knew being in the pack was permanent, he had no chance of just letting it sit under the radar until Derek built his own. Scott would notice soon enough.

“How do you even have Derek’s number? How does he have yours?”

Stiles waved his hands. “Scott, I have literally _always_ had Derek’s number. I’m the reason _you_ have his number.”

He’d jabbed the digits into a contact form while Scott was driving that very morning, then texted Scott’s number to Derek as well. Just because they didn’t _want_ to talk to each other, didn’t mean they shouldn’t have the ability to if they ever got their heads out of their asses.

“Whatever. I bet he was just trying to scare us so we wouldn’t find Lydia first. He’s gonna try to make her join his pack,” Scott predicted. Before Stiles could protest that Lydia joining Derek would be a _good_ thing, he continued, “Besides, _I_ never ate anyone’s liver.”

Stiles snorted and moved toward the doors again. “Right, because when it comes to werewolves, you’re a real model of self-control.”

Then it hit him, and he stopped again, slapping Scott’s stomach. “Actually—wait, hold on. You’re the test case for this, so we should be going over what happened to you.”

It took a second for Scott to get what Stiles was going for. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, what was going through your mind when you were turning. You know, what were you drawn to?”

Scott looked down while he thought, and when he raised his head again it was tilted bashfully. “Allison.”

Stiles groaned. “Okay, nothing else? _Seriously?_ ”

“Nothing else mattered.” Scott was grinning, and he poked Stiles’ chest. “That’s good though, right? The night that Lydia was bit, she was with you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles huffed, “but she was looking for…” He caught a glimpse of a douchey, grey Porsche and sighed, pointing. “Jackson.”

One dance did not a couple make, and Lydia had been firmly stuck on the Jackson front right up until Peter got to her. No way was she gonna go looking for Stiles to soothe her wolf. Though, considering how much danger Allison had been in those first few times, he was slightly grateful for it.

Morning practice was invented by the devil. Stiles had barely finished changing when Finstock started shouting them all up to the front for a lecture.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It’s a sick girl, roaming around, totally naked.” A few people whistled and Stiles added them to his list. He wasn’t sure what kind of list it was, but he was sure it was unpleasant, and they were on it. “Now, it’s supposed to get below forty degrees tonight. I don’t know about you, but the last time it was that cold, and I was running around naked,” he paused, grinning, then his face snapped to serious. “I lost a testicle to exposure! Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl. So police are organizing search parties for tonight.”

He took the paper he’d been holding and taped it up to the wall next to his office. “Sign up. Find the missing girl, and you get an automatic ‘A’ in my classes.”

The prospect of higher grades caused considerably more excitement, and while guys were signing up, Stiles and Scott pulled Jackson over to the other end of the locker room.

“Have you seen her?” Stiles asked outright.

“Seen who?”

“Lydia!” Stiles realized after a second that he’d been at the hospital the entire time Lydia was there. Jackson had never once shown up. He didn’t know. “Jackson, she’s the one missing. Dude, she’s going full _Ginger Snaps_ , we have to find her.”

Jackson blinked at Stiles, then Scott. “Already? But it’s only been a few days.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Scott glanced around. “Exactly. I started feeling weird the day after I got bit.”

Stiles gaped at Scott and looked around to make sure no one was listening. Just in case, he added, “Yeah, bit by the, uh, love bug. With Allison. Wow, that bug must’ve bit you pretty hard, Scotty.” Code names, they were supposed to be using code names.

But Jackson didn’t look remotely interested. He’d crossed his arms and backed up a step. “Listen, if Lydia’s taking naked hikes through the woods and attacking people, that’s Derek’s problem now, not mine.”

He pushed through them, leaving Stiles fuming and confused. He didn’t even get to take it out on anything in practice, because besides doing runs, he was delegated to the bench most of the time as punishment for skipping the last game.

After considering it for most of the day, Stiles finally leaned forward in Chemistry toward Scott’s back. “All right, it’s causing me severe mental anguish to say this, but he’s right.”

Scott tilted his head to the side and muttered, “I know.”

“If she’s an Omega now, what if she goes for long pig too? We both know Lydia would never settle for something that wasn’t fresh. And Derek said once they’re that far gone, they can’t adjust to being in a pack.”

“This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski. If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career.” Harris stood at the front of the class, back ramrod straight and eyes focused sharply on Stiles’ face.

Of course, the only possible response Stiles could be convinced to use was, “Can you do that?”

Harris actually almost smiled. “Well, there it is again. Your voice. Triggering the only impulse I’ve ever had to strike a student repeatedly and violently.” Stiles gaped as the students around him giggled. Like he wasn’t getting his safety threatened by a teacher with a military background. “I’ll see you at three for detention.”

Scott looked back at him, commiserating silently, but he snapped to attention when Harris asked, “You too, Mr. McCall?”

“No, sir.”

* * *

There were a lot of reasons Derek was at the high school. For one, he hadn’t been able to find Lydia’s scent again, almost like she’d disappeared from the town. His best bet was to go where she might go and hope. That meant tailing Jackson, who’d stunk of her stale scent when he came to the house on Friday.

It wasn’t Derek’s proudest moment, not in the least. He’d bitten Jackson just like he asked, only to watch him pass out instantly and stop breathing. Derek had never seen a bite go so wrong so quickly, but it was too late to take it back, so he’d done the only thing he could think of. He’d tossed Jackson’s body in the river and gone home to wait for death. He’d barely been an Alpha for a couple hours, and he’d already killed a teenager. So much for being better than Peter.

Halfway through his conversation with Stiles, Derek had felt it, the tiniest tug at his center. A pack bond. Jackson wasn’t dead. Soon after, another one snapped into place, still faint, but much less so. Stiles.

Derek had two pack members. One human, one wolf. That was his second reason for being at the school. While he was sure neither of them would be particularly interested in being near enough for him to scent, he couldn’t keep himself from staying close by.

His third reason was hopefully something that would prove not just to Scott, but to himself, he wasn’t another Peter.

Isaac Lahey was a strong kid, even more so than he looked. After Derek chased off the Omega that’d trapped Isaac in a grave…in _Kate’s_ grave, Isaac hadn’t hesitated to ask questions. So, Derek answered them. How was he supposed to say no, when the bruise around Isaac’s eye was only the most visible of his injuries? Derek could smell pain on him like it never went away. And fear, but not of Derek.

Actually, when Derek’d finally flashed his eyes to cement his explanation and his offer, Isaac’s laugh was only slightly hysteric. After telling Isaac where he could be found once he made a decision, Derek backed off and left him to go back to work. As sad as it was, it wasn’t like there was anyone for Isaac to tell about his discovery of werewolves, so Derek didn’t even have to warn him to keep quiet.

He’d been stuck to the kid’s side since dawn, listening outside the house, waiting for the slightest opportunity to break that useless father’s arm, if not his neck. Unfortunately, aside from some petty insults that would only make a coward feel like a man, he didn’t get the chance.

He made sure Isaac spotted him at the cemetery, just so he knew someone was watching once the cops left.

It was actually a surprise to smell and hear Isaac calm down as he walked into school. Apparently, however much of a hell it was for some of the other kids, school was safe for Isaac. Of course, as soon as Derek’d relaxed an iota, Jackson’s heart began to pound wildly and he raced to the nearest bathroom. Derek wasn’t far behind.

The rest of the bathroom was empty when Derek walked in, just the one cubicle closed and Jackson’s panting and sniffling behind it. Derek rapped on the metal.

“I’m fine, Danny, just go back to class.”

Holding back a sigh, Derek knocked again.

“Just give me a second, okay?”

He pounded on the door, rattling the latch.

“Just give me a freaking _second_.”

But the amount of fear oozing from the cubicle was too much for Derek to deal with, so he put one hand at the top of the door and yanked it open, popping the little bolt right off the metal. With a tug, he had Jackson in front of him.

Black liquid was dripping steadily from Jackson’s nose, smudges of it already drying on his lip and chin. “Derek?” Jackson panted.

“How long has this been happening?” Derek asked, pushing forward and grabbing Jackson’s chin in one hand. He tilted Jackson’s face to the side and watched more black begin to flow from his ear.

This wasn’t right. The bite either killed or it didn’t. So, why had Jackson nearly died as soon as the bite had taken hold, but lasted this long? He shouldn’t be standing if the bite was rejected. He should be dead.

Derek let Jackson’s hands push him away, but frowned when Jackson rushed over to the paper towel dispenser and shoved one under his nose. “Jackson, I’m your Alpha, let me help you.”

An invisible force slammed into Derek’s gut and he stumbled sideways into a sink, gripping it for balance. Every nerve in his body _zinged_ with the feeling that something was suddenly missing, and it took a mere moment for Derek to identify what the lost piece was.

The pack bond stretching between him and Jackson was gone, not torn away or broken, just _missing_ in a way that made Derek’s stomach roll.

Meanwhile, Jackson was barely paying attention. “No,” he shouted, only barely muffled by the paper. “No, you’re not my _anything._ Just because you gave me the bite doesn’t mean I’m part of your stupid wolf pack. You left me to die in a river, douchebag.”

Derek faltered and shoved back his shift. The sudden loss of a bond was setting off alarm bells in his head and it was a struggle not to just roar Jackson into submission so he could figure out what was going on. “Your body is fighting the bite. Let me help you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I—I’ve never seen it before. You need to come with me.”

With a few more furious swipes of the paper towel against his face and then over his ear, Jackson chucked the blackened mess into the trash. “I don’t _need_ to do anything. I’m not one of you, you don’t own me. You just stay the hell away from me.”

Jackson had composed himself by the time he left, but when the door slammed, it was Derek’s turn to trip into a cubicle as he tried to hold in his breakfast. Jackson’s bond had been fragile at best, too fresh to feel like anything more than a thread of recognition, but its loss still hurt.

Derek was down to one pack member again.

* * *

Ten seconds left of Stiles’ hour long detention and then he’d be home free. He’d barely gotten the chance to text Scott and let him know to just leave without him for the funeral before Harris was threatening to give him detention for the rest of the week. Since then, his phone had been buzzing occasionally in his pocket, and Stiles was absolutely twitching because of it.

Five more seconds. Four. Three. Two. One.

Stiles got his backpack over his shoulder and his chair shoved back.

“Sit.”

He balked. “What? But, it’s been an hour.”

Harris didn’t even look up from his papers. “My detention is an hour and a half.”

“You can’t do that!” Stiles was pretty sure that detentions were supposed to be uniform throughout the school, and he’d gotten enough to know that they were _all_ an hour long.

With an absolutely delighted sigh, Harris folded his hands and smiled at Stiles. “Oh, but I can. You see, Stiles, since your father was _so_ judicious in his dealings with me, I’ve decided to make you my personal project for the rest of the semester.”

Stiles didn’t sigh, didn’t fuss. He knew exactly what was happening. Tilting his head to the side, he listened quietly to Harris’ spiel.

“You are going to benefit from all the best that strict discipline has to offer. Now, sit down…before I decide to keep you here all night.”

Dickless bastard. Stiles sat and yanked open his Chemistry textbook, the only thing he was allowed to have out during Harris’ detention. Then, trembling for an entirely different reason this time, he stared at the clock again.

Thirty minutes to go.

It wasn’t the first time Stiles’d caught flack for his dad’s work. From older kids that’d gotten busted for public intoxication or petty theft, to the younger ones that’d been taught cops’ kids were all snitches, Stiles was pretty used to the reputation. Seven years of trying to break away from it had gotten him nothing but disappointed looks at home and sneers from classmates.

Twenty-nine minutes.

It was fine. It was always fine, because Stiles didn’t dare let it not be fine. If it was ever _not_ fine, his dad would find out and things would become so much worse. So he snarked back and took the hits and the tripping in the hall and drinks poured down his shirt all from people he used to know and was friendly with in elementary school. He took the ostracization from almost everyone but Scott and Heather. Funnily enough, it was one of his favorite things about Lydia. She’d never bothered to notice he existed, but it had nothing to do with who his dad was. She just didn’t care to know him. The difference was subtle, but important to Stiles.

Twenty-eight minutes.

He had to admit though, this was the first time he’d gotten it from a teacher.

The funeral was starting in about three minutes by the time Stiles pulled up to his spot in the trees and joined Scott at the back of the cemetery with one of his dad’s ties in hand. Not wearing remotely black was bad enough, and Stiles wanted to show some kind of respect. Not to Kate, of course, but to Allison.

There was only a single line of chairs set up on the green, half of them already occupied by Allison and her parents. A few feet away, the priest rifled through a bible filled with bookmarks. An old man came up to stand in front of Allison, leaning over her while two more suited men stood at attention behind him.

“Who the hell is that?” he whispered to Scott.

Allison glanced over at them, along with every other person around her. Stiles was already mostly hidden behind the statue and Scott, but he jumped backward anyway until Scott said, “He’s definitely an Argent.”

Stiles could tell Scott was listening to whatever conversation was going on, but it was nowhere near loud enough for Stiles to pick up on. He wanted to be optimistic, to be hopeful. “Hey, you know, maybe they’re just here for the funeral. I mean…what if they’re the non-hunting side of the family. There could be non-hunting Argents. That’s possible, right?”

But Scott just frowned gently at him. “I know what they are. They’re reinforcements.”

Peering out again toward where the older man and his stooges were now sitting, it was obvious that Scott was right. They definitely looked like backup. Back to pessimism it was.

The sudden jerk on the back of Stiles’ shirt was hard enough he flew upwards to stand, still somehow hidden by the angel statue’s wings. Scott was up too, and Stiles’ dad was hissing in their ears. “The two of you are _unbelievable_.” He jerked Stiles back down slightly. “Pick up my tie.”

“Got it, sorry, I know I’m supposed to ask,” Stiles swiped up the fallen tie from the dirt and wrapped it around his fingers as his dad dragged them both over to the cruiser. Once there, his dad opened up the back door and pointed, eyes blazing.

“I have _never_. You have any idea how disrespectful—what the hell is wrong with you boys?” His dad spat.

“Dad—”

“I am the sheriff of this town, and do you even realize how bad—”

“Dad! Would you just let me explain?”

It’d been a long while since Stiles had gotten a lecture that started with “I am the sheriff,” and even longer since he’d gotten one in front of Scott. He was mortified and slightly pissed.

“Oh, there’s an explanation for this, is there?”

“Well, yeah! Allison wanted Scott to be there and I—I was moral support.”

Noah looked Scott hard in the eye. “If she wanted you there, why weren’t you sitting next to her?”

Stiles looked at Scott and watched him struggle. They weren’t supposed to be together, but no one else had been around to question whether they were still dating or not.

“Uh, well. Her parents don’t really…like me. They told her it was a family-only thing, but she wanted me to come, so I did. And I asked Stiles to come with and give me a ride.” Never mind that Scott had run there instead, the rest of it was pure truth.

After being stared at for a good minute more, Stiles’ dad finally caved, his voice gentling considerably. “Alright. Well, you’re still not supposed to be there. So, just, stay here until it’s over and you can pay your respects. Appropriately.”

He still closed the door on them, but then he slid into the front seat. Once again, Stiles was stuck doing nothing. At least now he had his phone.

The missed texts from his detention included two from Scott, and one from Derek.

**Sourwolf: We need to talk. Pack business.**

Stiles was pretty sure what he was about to say was too important to wait.

_Heads up, more Argents just came 2 town._

**Sourwolf: I know, that’s why I’m as far from the cemetery as possible. Did you see how many?**

_At least 3?_

**Sourwolf: Helpful.**

_Ur welcome._

_We have pack business now? Like 4H or smthng?_

**Sourwolf: Meet me tomorrow. The depot.**

_The wat?_

**Sourwolf: I’ll send you the address.**

Around the time Scott nodded toward the cemetery to point out that everyone was leaving, the radio attached to the dashboard of the cruiser crackled to life.

“ _4-1-5 Adam”_

The call was fast, and Stiles didn’t blame his dad for checking. “I didn’t copy that, did you say 4-1-5 Adam?”

Stiles leaned over toward Scott and whispered, “Disturbance in a car.”

“ _They were taking a heart attack victim—D.O.A. But on the way to the hospital something hit ‘em._ ”

“Hit the ambulance?” the sheriff confirmed.

“ _Copy that. I’m standing in front of it right now. Something got in the back. There’s blood everywhere, and I mean everywhere._ ”

Now both Stiles and Scott were leaning forward, heads tilted so as not to miss a word.

“Alright, Unit four, what’s your twenty?”

“ _Route 5 and post. I swear, I’ve never seen anything like this._ ”

Stiles took one look at the door next to him. With Scott’s simple shove, they were off.

His Jeep was parked on a service road through the Preserve, and Stiles realized as soon as he’d gotten the engine rumbling that they could get all the way to the corner of Route 5 and the postal road without being on the main streets. Booking it through the trees, Stiles didn’t bother trying to talk. If he did, he’d inevitably start freaking out.

The end of the road was a good hundred yards from where red and blue flashing lights were shining into the trees, so rather than risk the Jeep being heard or seen, Stiles threw it into park and turned off the engine so he and Scott could run the rest of the distance. Together they dropped down behind a small hill and watched the chaos on the street.

There were three different cop cars, all with their lights on, and the ambulance that’d been mentioned was spun to the side in the street, blocking anyone from getting by without going off road. With the back doors wide open, one of them hanging off the hinges, it looked—as so much of the town was starting to look—like a scene out of a horror movie. Blood covered the previously white walls inside the vehicle while the stretcher inside held the outline of a body that Stiles could see from here had a hole in it. Even the windows of the back doors were stained red.

Two men in uniforms, one the dark colors of the paramedics and the other a tan officer’s outfit, argued off to the side of the ambulance. The paramedic was waving his arms, while the officer pointed toward the open door. They were too far away to be heard, but Stiles could guess what kind of conversation was being held. How did you explain this kind of thing? Someone or something crashing into your vehicle to steal organs from a dead body wasn’t something that happened every day.

If there was anything that Lydia could have done to prove that she was too far gone, this was it. Lydia was feral, a people eater.

Stiles thumped his head on the ground and let out a helpless sigh. “What the hell is Lydia doing?”

“I don’t know,” Scott breathed, staring intently at the scene.

“What kept you from doing that?” Stiles wanted to know. How could it have gone so wrong so quickly? “Was it Allison?”

Still not turning away, Scott nodded slightly. “I hope so.”

Stiles shook his head and nudged a hand toward the street. “Do you need to get closer?” If Scott could just catch her scent again, like he’d done before, seemingly so easily. If they could _just_ stop her from hurting anyone. Surely there was something Derek could do.

With a small flutter of his eyelids and a deep breath, Scott finally looked at Stiles. “No, I got it.”

As he went to turn back into the woods where the scent apparently led, Stiles grabbed onto the shoulder of his jacket and let himself cling, just for a second. “Hey, just…I just need you to find her. Alright? Please, just…” His voice gave way to a breathy whisper. “Just _find_ _her_.”

Nodding, Scott promised softly, “I will.”

This time Stiles let him leave, resigning himself to being totally useless in the search for Lydia.

Lydia was a werewolf. Stiles’ crush since the third grade was a werewolf and had eaten human flesh. Even if Stiles _did_ somehow find her, she would probably try to rip his face off and there were no fire extinguishers for him to spray in her face like he’d done with Scott when _he’d_ lost control.

She needed to be alright. Stiles could deal with her ditching him at the dance to find Jackson, he could get over how she’d refused to even look at him for years, but he couldn’t deal with her being this. He just needed her alive and sane and safe. Was that so much to ask for?

When his dad showed up, Stiles shoved himself upright and padded slowly to his dad’s side, barely even surprising him.

“Stiles, I shouldn’t have to tell you that you can’t be here,” Noah sighed, scribbling a note.

Stiles sighed right back at him. “You don’t, but here I am anyway. I just thought—I thought that it might have something to do with Lydia.”

Noah frowned. “Lydia? How could something like this have anything to do with Lydia?”

There wasn’t a good answer to that, but then Noah flipped shut his notepad and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “You think, whatever animal did this, it might’ve found Lydia as well?”

“In a way.”

“We’ve got people looking for her, son. A lot of people. Someone’s going to find her, and there’s still a good chance that she’s okay. She’s probably just lost.”

Kicking at the ground, Stiles tried to come up with an answer that wasn’t “Yeah, she’s lost her mind _and_ her humanity, and it’s my fault.” Instead, he looked up to see a pale figure emerge from behind the low hanging branches of a tree just off the edge of the road.

They had bright strawberry blonde hair that lit up in the headlights from all the cars, with leaves and sticks twisted in at odd angles. They were short too, no taller than five foot, three inches. Most importantly, their fair-skinned face was clean. A little smudged with dirt, but otherwise clean of anything more incriminating, more telling of a feral dinner. There was no blood on her face, just on her side, where the stitches over Peter’s bite were probably pulled. She hadn’t healed at all, which meant Lydia wasn’t a werewolf. She was still human.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, watching as she stepped out into the road, hands curled up over her chest and trembling. “Lydia?” he called. “Lydia!”

Finally, her eyes turned away from the ground and met his. With a shrug that was more shiver than anything, she lifted her hands out and gestured. “Well? Isn’t anyone gonna get me a coat?”

She was…naked, less than fifty feet away from Stiles. He got exactly half a step forward and his hand on his dad’s sleeve before collapsing into the dirt. Above him, his dad groaned goodnaturedly at Stiles’ antics, “ _Jesus_. Yep, here you go.”

A whole new ambulance was called for Lydia, and in the meantime, Stiles stripped off both his hoodie and his plaid overshirt and gave them over to Lydia even after she’d been gifted a shock blanket and a set of spare scrubs by the paramedics. To his surprise, she actually put them on. He wasn’t allowed near her while she was being interviewed first by an officer, then in a more medical circumstance by an EMT, but he could see her glancing over to him with wide eyes every time someone asked her what she remembered about the last few days.

At the last second, when she’d been bundled into the back of the new ambulance, Stiles ran up and held the door that the EMT was closing on him.

“Please, I should come with.”

The paramedic, Ellie, going by her nametag, just stared at him. “Family only.”

When the door tried to close again, Stiles shoved it back open and made eye contact with Lydia. “No, please, just let me ride with. I need—” _to protect her_ , he didn’t say. If the same something they’d thought was Lydia attacked the ambulance, he needed to be there, even if it just meant throwing himself in front of her.

Blinking warily at him, Lydia nodded. “It’s okay, he—he’s okay.”

With an exasperated sigh, the door was opened wide enough for him to clamber inside. Stiles got a glimpse of his dad’s face through the window and received a look of near pride. Clearly, his dad thought there were entirely different circumstances for his joining Lydia.

Halfway through town, only a few blocks from the hospital, Stiles’ phone rang. He ignored it at first, too busy trying to read the numbers on the pump while Ellie took Lydia’s blood pressure, but when she gave him a look that was so completely _Lydia_ , he felt safe picking up the call.

“ _Stiles, I saw—they just—_ ” Scott’s voice burst through the phone so sharply Lydia jumped, displacing the band around her arm.

Grimacing, Stiles lowered the volume almost as far as it could go. He doubted this was going to be the kind of conversation he wanted anyone else to overhear. “Scott, slow down.”

Scott whined. “ _They cut him in half, Stiles. Just like Allison’s dad was threatening to do to me yesterday.”_

“Wait, _who_?” Stiles was the one to jolt this time, his spine snapping ramrod straight. “Is Derek okay?”

“ _Not Derek, the other werewolf. They hung him up and then Argent had a_ sword _and—Stiles, they’re gonna kill me.”_

The other werewolf? What other— _oh_. The Omega that’d been trying to join Derek’s pack.

Stiles relaxed a little, then tilted uncomfortably on the short bench, trying to hide his face and words from Lydia’s piercing gaze. “Where are you?” he muttered into the mic.

There was a moment of silence, then Scott spoke a little more calmly. “ _In the Preserve still, I’m headed back to you at Route 5._ ”

“I’m not there, Scott. We found Lydia—or I guess, she found us. I’m headed to the hospital with her, we’re arriving now. Just, look, do you still have that spare set of keys to my Jeep?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Take my car back to my house, or your house, it doesn’t matter. I’ll hitch a ride home with my dad. Just go home, stay inside, and we’ll work it all out tomorrow.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, okay. Stiles, I tried to save him, but Derek wouldn’t let me.”_

This was _not_ the time for this, with the ambulance pulling up to the Emergency entrance and Ellie nudging Stiles this way and that to prep for removing Lydia on the stretcher, even while she fussed to be allowed to stand. “I’m sure there was a good reason, Scott. Listen, I gotta go. Take my Jeep, stay inside.”

He hung up just in time for Lydia to grab his wrist as she wobbled down the step to the ground. Not thinking, Stiles threw his other arm around her waist to steady her and climbed down with her, pushing her slowly into the wheelchair they had waiting.

Lydia didn’t let go of him even after she was settled, so he took the EMT’s position behind her and began to push, her hand squeezing his wrist unusually tight.

“Derek,” she mused. “As in Derek Hale? As in the nutjob who tried to kill us in the school?”

Stiles flinched. “Uh, n—no. Derek—Derek Harper. He’s, uh, Scott’s math tutor. Bad case of the sniffles, so he cancelled their session and Scott was freaking out. Also, fun fact, it wasn’t actually Derek Hale who did that. It was Kate Argent, Allison’s aunt.”

The grip on him loosened for a second, then tightened again. “Allison’s _aunt_ tried to kill us?”

“Uh, yes?”

That was the story that’d been spread, anyway. That Kate was responsible not just for the school scare, but for killing all her old accomplices to keep them from spilling the beans. Then she’d gone back to the Hale house and committed suicide out of guilt. It wasn’t a great story, but it kept Derek in the clear.

For the first time Stiles could remember, he was grateful to escape Lydia’s presence. He handed her off as quickly as possible to the nurse that came to greet them a little way down the hall, promising to return tomorrow after school. When he had better lies prepared.

After a quick call to his dad for a ride, Stiles dialed Derek’s number. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until Derek’s voice sounded over the line and his whole body slumped against the cement wall outside the hospital doors.

“You’re okay.”

“ _What? Stiles, of course I’m okay. What happened?”_

“Scott called, he said that Omega…did they really…” Stiles trailed off, unwilling to say it. In any other situation, he would’ve been fascinated by the concept of slicing someone in half with a sword, but this was real life and Stiles wasn’t as thick-skinned as he liked to believe.

“ _Yes. I tried to tell him to leave the territory, first at the house, then the cemetery, but he wouldn’t go._ ” There was a tilt to Derek’s usually tight voice, one that made Stiles wish he were there in person so he could properly read what Derek’s face was probably saying.

Suddenly, Derek’s and Scott’s words clicked together. “Wait, Scott said he followed Lydia’s scent to the house, and then he told me he’d caught it by the ambulance before he left. But, no, seriously? He was chasing the Omega the whole time?”

The startled laugh Derek let out was gratifying. This one wasn’t even a response to Stiles’ discomfort; they were clearly moving forward. “ _Looks like it, though how Scott managed to confuse Lydia’s scent with an unwashed Omega werewolf, I have no idea. He’s had two months to learn how to scent properly._ ”

Stiles wasn’t really interested in hearing how Scott’d been accidentally leading him on a wild goose chase the entire time they were supposed to be looking for Lydia, so he changed the subject. “We found her, by the way. Or, she found us? I was just standing there and she walked out of the trees. Derek, she isn’t a werewolf.”

“ _How can you be sure?_ ” Derek’s voice had dropped an entire octave, Stiles was positive. Even over the phone he could hear rumbling that was either a growl or a purr. Could werewolves purr?

“She still has bite marks, like juicy ones from when Peter attacked her. They haven’t healed at all.” He paused. “And Derek…those are my fault, okay? Peter said he bit her to get to me, because he was looking for me to help him find you. So, I was wondering, werewolf or not, Lydia needs—”

“ _I have to go._ ” The line cut off almost before Derek had finished his sentence, and Stiles was left staring at his phone.

This was _important_. Derek was the one who needed a pack, and sure, having another human probably wasn’t the most helpful thing, but it had to be better than nothing. Had he seriously been so offended by Stiles’ suggestion he had to hang up, or was something else happening?

He tried to call back, with no answer, then sent a text just to be safe.

_U didn’t hang up bc ur abt 2 b murdered, did u?_

His dad had pulled up with an exhausted smile by the time Stiles got his answer.

**Sourwolf: No. We’ll talk tomorrow.**

An unfamiliar address followed, and Stiles punched it into his GPS as he climbed into the passenger seat of the cruiser. After a few seconds of loading, the map on his phone popped up a pin near the edge of town. It was in the same warehouse district that Stiles’d driven through back when he and Scott’d picked Derek up at the ironworks.

What the hell were they doing meeting at an abandoned train depot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we're in Season 2, things are going to be amping up in the changes department. As is the nature of changing the POV, there will definitely be some scenes and subplots from the show that had to be left out, but that also means that I got to put in a _lot_ of extra scenes and subplots for Derek and Stiles, as well as expanding on their relationship with each other, and with the rest of the Hale Pack.  
> Due to the number of changes and additions this season, I've got even more in-depth with each episode, so the average length for each is about 20-30 pages? That's 11-16k per chapter, I think. You're in for a long read, my friend.  
> As is the nature of this rewrite, my goal was to 'improve' on Teen Wolf. I did my best to fix broken timelines, repair continuity errors, and used my own judgement to adjust character's behaviors and dialogue to better reflect the way I saw them in the show. If you have any questions about what I've changed, please let me know, I'd be happy to rant about it. :)  
> Forewarning: This fic is my own personal opinion. A huge motivator for me to write this was the belief that TW is severely biased in Scott's favor, as it is him telling a story in which he must be the hero. Of course, attempting to change this means that my own bias' have affected the story in Stiles' and Derek's favors. I use the Bad Friend Scott McCall tag for a _reason_ so please don't be surprised to find that his behavior in this fic is a little more nefarious than it is presented as in the show.  
> 


	2. Episode 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, sorry this chapter is late! Had some scheduling issues, so my last-minute read-through had to happen a lil later than usual, and when the chapter is like 25 pages, that takes a while.  
> Content warning, this is the introduction to Isaac, which means there'll be references to his abuse. Please be aware and take care of yourselves. <3  
> I had a lot of fun with this episode and I hope you like the changes I made.

“So that smell was never Lydia?” Scott asked.

Stiles shook his head and crunched on another bite of apple. “Nope.” He threw his arms out. “And seriously, dude? You can track Allison all the way across town in your sleep, _literally_. How’d you mix up a human and a werewolf?”

Scott cringed appropriately. “I don’t know, I _thought_ it was the same scent I picked up off the clothes you gave me. It was like blood, and something panicky.”

“You mean like the kind of panic a hungry Omega might give off, and the blood he might’ve gotten on his hands after eating furry creatures and dead bodies?” Stiles suggested. He went to take a last bite of his food, only for his stomach to go sour. Not fair. Shuddering, he dropped his apple onto the empty lunch tray in front of him.

“Uh, maybe?”

But could Stiles really _blame_ Scott for not knowing? Sure, it’d been two months, but it’d been the craziest two months of Stiles’ entire life. He could give Scott a break. “Hey man, I get it. I’d probably get pretty confused too if my sniffer was turned up to like a thousand. I know! Come with me to the hospital today!”

Apparently Scott’s stomach was unperturbed by dead bodies, because he was halfway through a bite of his burger. He didn’t bother finishing chewing before mumbling, “Uh, why?”

“So you can get a real lock on Lydia’s scent,” Stiles explained. “Plus, I’m thinking we should tell her, and it’d be way easier to have you around for demonstrations.”

It was Scott or Derek, and no offense to Derek’s wolf face, but Lydia was less likely to scream her head off if Scott was the one doing show and tell. Red eyes were way scarier than gold ones.

A blush crept up Scott’s face. “Uh, actually, I’m supposed to go meet up with—”

“Allison?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude!” Stiles flailed slightly and jarred his elbow on the table. “I get that you’re like head over heels for her, and she’s great, seriously, she is, but teenage romance really needs to take a backseat until we can be sure you aren’t going to _die_. The only reason Argent hasn’t attacked you yet is because you agreed not to date her anymore. If he finds out you’re canoodling in the woods every other night, we’re going to have a repeat performance with that sword.”

Scott hung his head and dropped his food to its paper plate. “I know, I _know_. That’s why I’m meeting her, to tell her we have to be more careful.”

With a snort, Stiles began picking the thin skin off his discarded apple and grumbled, “You wouldn’t need to be so careful if the two of you could keep in your pants.”

That left Derek as the only viable option for introducing Lydia to the sudden upsurge in supernatural happenings within Beacon Hills, but Stiles barely got the call going on his way through the parking lot after school before Derek was rushing him.

“ _Are you on your way?_ ”

Stiles sighed. “No, Derek. First off, I literally got out about two minutes ago, and second, I need your help.”

“ _Come here and I’ll help you._ ”

“I actually need you to come to me. I mean, the hospital. See, I need you to help me with Lydia. Somebody’s gotta explain what’s going on—”

“ _No._ ”

“What? Why not? Peter almost _killed_ her, Derek. She deserves to know!”

“ _She’s human and friends with the Argents. She can’t know. Now get to the address I gave you, we need to talk.”_

Grimacing, Stiles slammed his way into his Jeep and snapped, “We _are_ talking, Derek. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to the hospital and I’m telling Lydia anything I think she’ll believe. So just tell me what the hell you want to talk about or wait until I’m done.”

Derek’s only answer was the end of the phone call.

This wasn’t fair. Lydia would never believe him without some kind of proof.

This time, Stiles’ visit was vastly different, mostly because he actually managed to get into Lydia’s room without death glares from her mother. In fact, as soon as he’d knocked on the door, Lydia was dragging him inside and practically banishing her mom from the room. Once the door was shut and the curtain on her tiny hall-facing window was pulled, Lydia gave him almost the same exact look Allison had just a few days before.

 _“So?”_ she asked expectantly.

Stiles was immediately lost for words. “So…” he drawled, staring around the room. His eyes caught on a gaudy little balloon tied to the corner of a chair. “So, you got my balloon!”

He went over to it and plucked at the string, making the balloon bounce in slow motion. Someone must’ve saved it from where he’d tied it to the chair in the hall outside herother room. He’d bet it was Ms. McCall.

Behind Stiles, he could _feel_ Lydia’s eyes boring into him. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I—I have no idea what you mean.”

“How about why Allison’s aunt killed a bunch of people? Why she went after _us_ at the school? And why, if Derek Hale _isn’t_ the one who did it, you and Scott named him? You and Scott were talking about something weird during that phone call, too. I heard something about swords and I know I heard the name Argent.” She raised a finger when Stiles opened his mouth. “And don’t act stupid, Stiles. Why were you there when I woke up? For that matter, why are you here now?”

Stiles flounded for a good ten seconds. “I—I’m just here for moral support! Listen, you—uh, I—See, Derek and Scott are—What happened to you?”

Caught off guard, Lydia sat back down on her bed. “Excuse me?”

“What do you remember?”

She squinted at him, but dropped against her pillow and responded, “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I don’t _know_. One second I was in the shower and the next—” There was the tiniest of hitches in her breath, “I’m walking out of the woods and you’re fainting.”

Stiles balked. “I didn’t _faint_! I just…tripped.” Then, Stiles paused too. He knew this trick. He’d used it about a million times on Scott and even his dad. She was distracting him with an insult to keep him from noticing that break in her sentence. 

She was lying.

Lydia looked small in the hospital bed. Her hair was clean now, and brushed, but there was no makeup on her face or stylish purse hooked on her elbow. Instead, a thick medical bracelet was wrapped around her wrist, and she was wearing another blue and white hospital gown, tucked under the powder blue, knitted covers.

He stayed slow as he approached, carefully reaching for the edge of the bed and settling himself as lightly as possible in the corner. “Lydia,” he whispered, “if something else happened, you can tell me.”

“It’s nothing. I just—” Lydia cleared her throat, “I had a nightmare. Before.”

Stiles tipped his head to the side. “I thought you were taking a shower.”

Lydia frowned. “I _was_. I must’ve fallen asleep in there or something.”

Her hard glare kept Stiles from pursuing that specific line of questioning, so instead he asked, “What was the nightmare about?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! Lydia, yes, it matters.” Stiles was ready to beg. “Please, just trust me. What was it about?”

Swallowing hard, Lydia looked down at her hands. “The water went black and started filling up the tub, and when I went to fix the drain, I pulled up—” Another swallow. “Hair, so much hair. And then…something grabbed me. A hand, but it was all—and there was this smell.”

Her voice had fallen to a whisper, so Stiles inched closer. “What smell?”

“Something burning.”

Stiles’ heart was pounding, and he had half a mind to run away from the hospital himself when Lydia added. “I heard something too. Screaming.”

“Lydia, that was you. You screamed before you ran.”

“No, it wasn’t me. It was a lot of people. All of them were screaming over each other.”

Pulling from his limited knowledge, Stiles could only think of one thing that might’ve happened. He tugged at the blanket a little and asked, “Lydia, when you were attacked, was it just the bite?”

Lydia’s eyes snapped up to him and she scooted away slightly. “What? Why do you want to know? What does that have to do with my nightmare?”

“N—nothing. I just need to know.”

For all that he’d probably asked more invasive questions than Lydia would ever have allowed on a normal day, she didn’t shove him away or make him leave, she just nodded and showed him exactly what he’d been expecting.

As she lifted her hair up, away from her neck, Lydia revealed a white bandage along the top of her spine. It was right where Scott’s marks had been, and even Jackson’s. Stiles was sure if he pulled the gauze and tape away he’d find four deep little cuts just the right size for a set of claws.

Peter hadn’t just attacked her, he’d sent her memories like he’d done to Scott. Like someone had done to Jackson, apparently.

In the end, Stiles told her the truth. It was just a nightmare and it couldn’t hurt her. Scott’d been green around the gills for a couple of days after Peter did it to him, but there weren’t any other side effects as far as Stiles knew. Hopefully, within a week Lydia would be right back to normal.

The rest of what he’d been planning to explain fell to the wayside when Lydia’s mom and a nurse pushed back into the room. She’d be going home tonight, they said, and while Lydia was requesting clean clothes and an immediate check-out, Stiles beat it. He was only a half hour late to the so-called “Pack Meeting” and now he had even more things to tell Derek.

It took almost fifteen minutes to find the location his GPS pointed to because the top half of the depot was completely unmarked. It looked like one of those bunker houses with only enough wall above ground for a door and a window. What the _hell_ was Derek doing here?

At the very least, the lights worked when Stiles fumbled for a switch on the never-ending stairs. There was a whole extra landing before he hit concrete and the hanging lights illuminated a destitute looking platform with an abandoned set of cars still attached to the rail. Even the lights inside the cars were on, but Stiles didn’t get very close to them before Derek emerged from a doorway at the side of the room.

For a second, Stiles stared. Derek had the red peepers going full power, but he didn’t seem to be struggling with them like before. Pride bloomed in his chest when Derek’s eyes faded back to hazel as he entered a better lit space. Stiles was part of the reason Derek could do that.

“Hey, Chief.”

“Don’t call me that.”

And why exactly had Stiles been wishing he could have those phone conversations with Derek in person instead? It couldn’t have been because he wanted to be able to read Derek’s emotions on his face, if not in his voice, because Derek apparently _had_ no face. Just a brick wall of scowling and bushy brows.

Glancing around to make sure he didn’t trip over anything on his way to stand in front of Derek, Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Gotta call you something, and it can’t be Alpha, cus’ like, I have no filter. So someone _will_ overhear me and get to thinking some pretty inappropriate things about me. My reputation can’t take that hit.”

His attempt at lightening the mood only served to make Derek cross his arms over his chest, his muscles bulging. Stiles was _positive_ they were bigger than they’d been when he was a Beta. Though, hey, maybe he should take it as a good sign that Derek wasn’t wearing his jacket at the moment, which was the only reason Stiles could even see his arms. Maybe Derek the Alpha was going to be a little less outrageously intimidating than Derek the Beta.

“Just call me by my name, Stiles,” Derek bit out.

Or not.

In a last ditch effort, Stiles slumped. “Look, I’m sorry I’m late. But I _had_ to go see—”

Derek showed his first emotion of the night, and it wasn’t a good one. “I don’t care about the human. I told you to come here because we have things to discuss.”

“Right! Pack business. When do we start selling cookies?”

“ _Stiles!_ ” The red eyes were back, if only for a second.

Stiles retreated an entire step and threw his hands up. “Okay, okay. Serious stuff, I got it. The representative from California has the floor.” He bowed the tiniest bit and gestured for Derek to talk.

He should be grateful, shouldn’t he? That Derek was actually trying to talk to him instead of following in the footsteps of his crazed uncle? That there were currently words happening instead of claws and pain and death? While Derek’s control clearly needed some work after his power boost, he was definitely better than before.

While Stiles tried to hold his comments about Lydia’s supposed nightmare in, Derek began to shift and tighten to an even more uncomfortable looking position.

Finally, he started. “You told me you would be my pack until I built up my own, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Stiles froze. “I thought that Omega died.”

“He did. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

A hint of worry slid up Stiles’ spine. “So, does this mean you were kidding about the ‘no proto-pack’ thing?”

It’d been two days since Stiles’d been told he was unequivocally part of Derek’s pack and he hadn’t really gotten used to the idea yet, but that didn’t mean he was excited to find out it wasn’t true. Not being a part of Derek’s pack meant that Stiles couldn’t mediate for Derek and Scott in the same capacity. He was back to being the token human. Useless.

But Derek only frowned harder. “No. I wouldn’t joke about that. Why? Are you backing out?”

“No!” Stiles burst. “I mean, I just thought. Since you said—you wouldn’t really need me anymore. To keep you stable and stuff.”

There was the slightest softening of Derek’s brow. “Of course I would. Having one new member doesn’t mean I don’t need the other. Packs are stronger in large numbers.”

Stiles looked down at the ground to hide his embarrassingly pleased smile. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

“If you can’t handle—”

“I can handle it! No problem. Happy to help,” Stiles promised. In his hurry to speak, he looked up, and then he was grinning at Derek.

It only got bigger when Derek finally dropped his scowl and the corner of his mouth twitched upward instead. “Deal.”

Who knew it could be so awkward to just share a good moment with Derek Hale? Suddenly, Stiles had a desperate need to cough, so he did, hiding his face in his elbow. “Speaking of, does this mean you’ve been talking to Scott?”

A frown was just returning to Derek’s face when the door above them clanged open. Stiles spun around, ready for Scott to make some dramatic entrance, only for a much slimmer, taller figure to skitter down the steps with frantic energy.

A dirty blond came to a stop, panting, at the foot of the steps, and Stiles lost most of his brain power.

“Isaac?” Stiles gasped. He turned to face Derek, who looked nearly as stunned as he did. “Isaac Lahey? From my lacrosse team?”

Isaac himself just panted a little more before straightening up and looking right past Stiles to Derek with a look of pure desperation and fury. “Do it.”

Immediately, Derek’s eyes turned red, but Stiles wasn’t finished being confused. “Wait, wait, wait, you haven’t done it yet?” Then he turned to Isaac. “And you know about _it_?”

His question seemed to knock Isaac a little off course, and Stiles was finally given a cursory lookover. “Stiles? You’re a werewolf too?”

Feeling like he was watching some kind of ping-pong battle, Stiles looked at Derek again. “He knows the ‘W’ word?”

Derek didn’t look at him, and he didn’t put away the Alpha eyes. “Are you sure?”

Stiles shook his head at Isaac. “No, I’m human. Hold on, are you okay?”

Since Isaac had been standing in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, it wasn’t until he’d taken a step closer to Derek that Stiles could see how the entire right side of his face was swollen and purpling. Not thinking, he moved toward Isaac, reaching out to grab him and hold him still for better inspection.

Isaac didn’t flinch, he _spasmed_ away from Stiles and tripped backward into the railing of the stairs, eyes so wide Stiles could only think of the bunny that’d screamed the entire time Scott was helping Deaton fix its broken leg. Scott hadn’t even been a werewolf yet.

“Woah, woah, it’s okay.” Stiles took a big step back, bumping his shoulder into Derek as he lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Isaac, what happened?”

Once again, Stiles was ignored as Isaac whimpered, “Please,” in Derek’s direction.

Immediately, Derek was pushing past Stiles, and Stiles had to grab onto his arm and yank to make him stop. Derek’s expression as he shook Stiles off of him was like an older, harder version of Isaac’s. Less fear, more fury. Stiles put his hands back up and left them there.

“Hold on, can I just talk to you about this first? Just, can we all take _one_ second to catch me up?”

To his surprise, though Derek looked like he wanted to bite Stiles’ face off, he just grabbed him by a chunk of his hoodie and dragged him across the room. Stiles bumped into more than one pallet and support beam, but Derek didn’t slow until they were out of earshot of Isaac.

“What?” Derek snapped, dropping Stiles like he’d been burned. For a moment, Stiles watched his teeth lengthen as he glanced in Isaac’s direction, before they sank back down to their normal dullness.

Stiles recognized how close to the edge he was stepping and didn’t bother with jokes. “Derek, just level with me here. Why Isaac? I mean, how did you even meet him? How does he know about werewolves?”

“I told him.”

“When?”

“At the cemetery, after I chased off the Omega. He had Isaac trapped.” Slowly, Derek seemed to be calming.

Of course, that meant Stiles couldn’t contain his snark. “So, what? You chased off the big bad then turned around to give Isaac a werewolf lesson about not wandering alone in cemeteries in case unruly Omegas try to rob the graves? What happened to not telling humans?”

Derek snarled quietly. “He had a black eye, Stiles, and it wasn’t from the Omega.”

“Yeah? He got it in—” Stiles paused, halfway through a shrug. “I thought he got it in lacrosse.”

Solemnly, Derek shook his head.

A bitter taste settled at the back of Stiles’ throat. Isaac was clumsy. He always showed up to morning practice with bruises on his arms, or a cut lip, and ended it holding onto one limb or another that would usually be sporting a bruise by the time afternoon practice came along. He joked about running into walls or tripping over headstones whenever anybody asked what’d happened. He was _supposed_ to be clumsy.

If it were possible for Stiles to see red, he would have. “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ —”

“No, you’re not,” Derek warned. “If I can’t, you can’t.”

“So you’re going to turn him?” Stiles asked, not sure what else he could even say.

Derek glanced toward Isaac again. “He needs this. I need this.”

Resisting the urge to reach for Derek’s arm again, Stiles said, “But that was two days ago. Why haven’t you already done it?”

Eagerness wasn’t a look Stiles had seen on Derek yet, and it kind of made his chest hurt to have someone so intimidating be so…vulnerable. “I wanted him to choose. He’s been coming to see me, to ask questions.”

“Wait, that’s why you hung up yesterday, isn’t it? He showed up?”

Derek nodded.

Finally, Stiles blew out a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay,” Stiles repeated. “I’m not gonna fight you on this. Come on.”

Again, Stiles had to pull his hand back just before he grabbed at Derek’s arm to lead him over to Isaac. He buried his hands in his pockets to keep them still and just walked away, keeping eye contact with Isaac once he was close enough.

“Man, tell me you know what you’re getting yourself into. This isn’t lollipops and rainbows. Do you know the risks? All of them?”

Isaac had straightened up again and he wrung his hands even as he nodded. “He told me about everything. I’m not looking for—I don’t wanna get anyone in trouble. I just—”

Stiles waved his hand shortly, “No man, I get it.” He tried to keep his voice from going too hard as he finished, “Seriously.”

It was surreal to watch Derek lead Isaac into the car, to follow behind and take a seat next to where Isaac had stretched out over three others.

If Stiles had been there, when Scott was getting bit, he would at least have held his brother’s hand. Isaac wasn’t his brother, but Stiles didn’t hesitate to hold his fingers out and wiggle them when Isaac just stared. “Come on, man, let me share your pain. This is gonna hurt you _way_ more than it’s gonna hurt me.”

After an awkward second, Isaac took his hand in a near gentle grip and nodded to where Derek was crouched at his side.

He didn’t watch. He couldn’t, not when images of Lydia’s own bite made him feel faint. But he felt it through Isaac and the way he suddenly squeezed Stiles’ fingers so tightly Stiles could swear his bones were grinding together. It was nothing compared to how hurt Stiles was when Isaac didn’t even scream.

Only once Isaac’s grip on him loosened again did Stiles open his clenched eyes and chance a peek down. Nope, oh god, _gross_. “Tell me you have something for cleaning that up,” he wheezed.

“There’s no real need,” Derek said through fangs. “If it takes, he’ll heal by tomorrow.”

So they waited a precious, silent couple of minutes until Derek finally sighed in relief. “He’s clotting.”

“Are you sure?” Isaac was still holding Stiles’ hand and he squeezed slightly as he tried to sit up.

“If the bite doesn’t take, you know right away,” Derek reassured him. “Congratulations.”

Stiles shook his hand free from Isaac and began to strip off his _third_ favourite plaid shirt. Lydia still had his second one. “Yeah, yeah, congratulations, now let’s clean up all this nastiness please.”

First, he held it out to Derek, who had a ring of blood around his mouth. Stiles couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Come on, either wipe yourself off or I’m doing it for you.”

When Derek didn’t grab the shirt right away, Stiles leaned forward and tried to swipe at Derek’s face with one of the sleeves. That got the shirt taken away and Derek’s face wiped halfheartedly. Derek had put away his Alpha eyes finally, but he flashed them for a moment as he grumbled, “You happy?”

At the sight of Derek’s stained red teeth, Stiles groaned and put an arm up to cover his eyes. “ _No_ , go gargle or something while I take care of your poor Beta.”

Derek’s growl as he left the car made Stiles chuckle, but Isaac was instantly alarmed. “Did he just, uh…”

“Growl? Yeah, comes with the territory, especially since he became an Alpha. Ignore him though, he usually doesn’t mean it,” Stiles said.

He carefully folded the used sleeve back into the shirt without touching the bloodstain, then began to wipe up the mess on Isaac’s side, apologizing when Isaac winced. At least the shirt was already red, making the blood just a tiny bit less obvious.

“How’s your face?” he asked, giving his eyes a break from the carnage he was dealing with by checking out the dark bruises over Isaac’s cheekbone in the brighter fluorescent lights.

Isaac’s stomach jerked with a short, vicious laugh. “Still feels like hell.”

“Yeah? Well, if you’re anything like Scott, you should be feeling about a million times better by tomorrow morning.”

Isaac looked up from where he’d been staring at the bite. “Scott McCall is a werewolf? That’s why he got on first line, isn’t it?”

Stiles nodded, pressing the now bundled shirt up against Isaac’s wound until he felt him flinch. “Yup. I keep telling him werewolf powers are cheating, but come on, who _wouldn’t_ take that opportunity to make Coach’s head spin? Now, just keep this on the bite until you get home, and then I guess you can just throw it away.”

He had time to mourn the loss of his shirt as he helped Isaac stand and walk back out to the platform where Derek was waiting.

Luckily, Stiles didn’t have to listen to Derek’s warning spiel about keeping his abilities a secret, because once Isaac admitted he’d brought his bike and couldn’t both ride home and hold the makeshift bandage at the same time, Stiles headed back up to the street to hook Isaac’s bike to the back of the Jeep.

Isaac came out right after he was finished, followed by a very suspicious Derek. Though there wasn’t anyone on the street as far as Stiles could see, Derek wouldn’t even come out of the shadow next to the front door. Stiles had to go over himself after popping open the Jeep door for Isaac and getting a grunt of a request from Derek.

As he got closer, Stiles stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “Won’t he hear us anyway?”

“I doubt it. If he’s hurt, that’s what his body will deal with first,” Derek explained.

“So,” Stiles clapped his hands together, “what can I do for you oh Alpha, my Alpha?”

Derek just scowled at him. “ _Stiles_. Addressing me as ‘Alpha’ is way too formal.”

But his face wasn’t set nearly as tight as before, so Stiles kept poking. “Well fine, how about Peter Pan, then? You’re definitely fitting the description, swooping down to save a little Lost Boy. You live underground too. Next thing I know you’ll be telling me you can actually fly and this tiny, annoying, little fairy follows you around yelling at people for you.”

To Stiles’ sudden horror, Derek grinned sharply at him. Realizing his mistake, he threw his finger up in a warning. “Don’t you dare say it!”

For a moment, Derek’s mouth twitched dangerously, then his smile faded away to his usual grim expression and he said, “I just wanted to say…thanks. For helping with Isaac.”

“Dude, of course. What else is pack for, right? Wait, is that right? You still haven’t actually told me what the hell I’m supposed to—”

“Stiles, hurry up!” Isaac called.

Stiles turned to see Isaac leaning out his window slightly, a smile on his face, the first one of the night. He waved Isaac off and started to head over, but Derek stopped him with a word.

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You can’t tell Scott about this.”

“Wait, what?”

It was one thing for Stiles to be holding out on Scott about joining Derek’s pack himself, but he was still human. Isaac was a werewolf now. Stiles already felt guilty as it was. “No, Derek, I have to tell him.”

Derek frowned and shifted his feet. “You can’t. Not yet.”

“What do you mean ‘not yet?’ I can’t just lie to Scott, Derek, and it’s not like I can avoid him—we have school tomorrow,” Stiles argued.

“I said _no._ ” The words had a tremor to them. That sensation that’d been enough to worry Stiles when it was just a hint in Scott’s voice, but much stronger this time, and accompanied by Alpha eyes.

It was more than unnecessary, it was insulting. Stiles’ mouth snapped shut so hard his teeth clacked. He didn’t speak as he stormed to his Jeep, didn’t even glance Derek’s way as he backed out of the parking lot.

Who did Derek think he was? It was one thing to have snarled at Stiles when he’d just become the Alpha, when he was so clearly hanging onto reason and logic by a thread. Stiles understood lashing out in a moment of weakness, but what the hell was his weakness now? Derek was another pack member up on the scale, he’d never been more powerful. So what business did he have using the Alpha voice on Stiles?

At his side, Isaac didn’t so much as twitch. It was sufficiently guilt inducing to know that the kid he’d just realized was being abused at home was now trapped in a small space with Stiles’ fury. Still, he couldn’t just _force_ himself not to be angry. No, it had to bounce around long enough to find a way out.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles asked, “How do you feel about the radio?”

“Uh, it’s good?” Isaac offered, still not moving. “The louder the better, I guess.”

Rather than examine how likely it was that Isaac was lying to him to make him feel better, Stiles just nodded and turned on the rock station. His volume was broken, so it only went to the halfway point, but his speakers were decent enough that it was still able to beat some of the anger out of his head through his ears. By the time they reached Isaac’s carefully pointed out street, Stiles felt calm enough to turn the radio down to less skull blasting levels.

“Look man, I’m sorry,” Stiles said. He put the Jeep in park a little way down from the numbered house Isaac had mentioned and attempted to unscrew his jaw. It ached from clenching it so hard. “I’m just so done with that Alpha posturing shit, you know?” He paused. “Uh, no, you wouldn’t. Nevermind. Hey, get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Isaac nodded at him and tried to pop open the passenger door, but it stuck.

“Shove it a little harder. Sorry, I forget that happens. Scott just blasts his way through it these days.”

Finally, Isaac was free, still holding Stiles’ shirt to his side under his own hoodie. “So, is Scott part of Derek’s pack too?” He propped one arm in the open window and rested his chin against it, watching Stiles closely.

For all that Derek had been talking to Isaac for the last few _days_ about werewolves, Stiles was amazed he hadn’t mentioned Scott being one. What else was there to talk about for that long? “No, not really. He’s not really a pack kind of guy. Why?”

“Just wondering. Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you not…tell anybody about…”

For a second Stiles thought he was about to have the same argument all over again, but then Isaac glanced at his house, at the shadowy porch and the closed blinds. It was such a cute little house, to have such dark secrets.

There weren’t words to express exactly how Stiles was feeling, so he just nodded slowly and watched Isaac go around the back of the Jeep to yank his bike free, then push it with one hand toward the building. Part of Stiles actually wanted to stay, to sit outside and wait for the slightest raised voice so he could go running in and…and what, exactly? He was human, a teenager at that. And while some piece of him had this desperate urge to rip apart _anybody_ who hurt Isaac, with his bare hands, the best thing he could do was call the cops. To tell his dad.

But Isaac had asked him not to.

And besides, since when did Stiles care this much about anybody other than Scott, anyway? Scott, Melissa, his dad, Heather, and Lydia. They were who mattered. They were family, and Lydia had been his true love for years. That didn’t just disappear overnight. He didn’t know how to _stop_ caring about her, so he could just lump her in with the rest of them.

Not wanting a teenage boy to get the shit beat out of him by his own dad was different from the fire in Stiles’ chest, he was sure. It wasn’t normal for him to be this bent out of shape about a stranger.

Stiles forced himself to put the Jeep in drive, having already sat and stared blankly at Isaac’s front door for at least ten minutes. He had homework to do and the real world to get back to. The only saving grace was that Coach didn’t give them practice on Wednesdays, too busy trying to make it through the middle of the week himself to even think of having to watch a bunch of teenagers run in circles.

— 

It was instantly clear from the slack grin and glazed eyes Scott sported the next morning that his plan of telling Allison they needed to steer clear of each other hadn’t been successful. But there were other things for Stiles to worry about. Like the full moon tomorrow night. Not only did he have to come up with a better plan for Scott than just handcuffing him to a radiator, but he’d probably need to help Derek with Isaac. That meant he needed more hardware.

It was outrageously easy to slip into the shop class and filch a long length of petite chins that were just lying around where anyone might steal them. Who kept chains in the locked drawer of a filing cabinet labelled “Extra-high-strength Straight Link Chain” anyway? It was entirely their fault Stiles managed to pick the lock and stuff it into his backpack. Twenty feet of chain weighed heavy in his bag until he could sneak into the locker room and hide it with his lacrosse gear, and he had to set it down as slowly as possible to keep it from jingling suspiciously, but if it meant no more Scott breaking out of things and giving Stiles a heart attack, then it would be worth it. He would just make Scott carry it tomorrow.

The day was boring. Besides receiving pre-midterm grade reports and looking for Isaac in between classes, Stiles was able to just focus on his notetaking and pretending to be a normal teenager.

Flipping to the last few pages of one of his notebooks, Stiles doodled and jotted down ideas of how to tell Scott about Isaac and himself being part of Derek’s pack. He couldn’t even finish any of the sentences before scribbling them out in frustration. It shouldn’t be so hard to just tell his best friend that he’d made a foolproof alliance with someone who could help them out in a tight spot. He wasn’t doing anything _wrong_.

The only glimpse he got of Isaac was during chemistry, but he sat on the opposite end of the room. Stiles shared almost a full second of acknowledging eye contact when he walked in the door before Scott, but then Scott came pushing through to get to their table, complaining about how strong someone’s cologne was under his breath. Stiles himself couldn’t smell anything, but he was getting used to that.

At home, Stiles spent a good ten minutes spinning around in his chair with the duffel of chains from the month before sitting in the center of his room. He was _planning_ to take them to Derek. Living in an abandoned depot probably didn’t bode well for Derek’s ability to go buy chains for Isaac. Whether Derek was broke, unlikely considering the Camaro he drove and how stupidly rich the Hales had been, or just hiding out, Isaac would need them. 

But that didn’t mean Stiles _wanted_ to go back there. Not if Derek was going to pull that pissy Alpha shit again. Especially not with the excessive amount of heavy metal in the duffel. He’d lugged it around enough getting it to Scott’s house, then retrieving it from the room and dragging it home. It was heavy as hell, so why shouldn’t he make Derek do the manual labor?

_Hey, so i have these chains._

_Like, 4 Isaac i mean._

_Come get them._

He wasn’t even expecting Derek to show up, but twenty minutes later, something knocked on Stiles’ window next to his bed. Trying not to show his surprise, Stiles dropped the book he was looking at onto his desk and watched Derek open the window from the outside.

“I have a front door, dumbass. You’re just making the Peter Pan idea fit better,” Stiles said, pointing at the duffel even though the chains inside were clearly visible. “There you go.”

“What about Scott?” Derek didn’t move, just stood in front of the window and stared at the bag.

Stiles twirled his chair again. “I got him some chains of his own, you’re getting hand-me-downs. No handcuffs need to be involved this month.”

Derek twitched his head to the side and caught Stiles’ eye. “No, Stiles. Did you tell Scott?”

Well, he…no. He hadn’t. How was he supposed to bring that up? Telling Scott about Isaac inevitably meant telling him about being in Derek’s pack. It was like opening two cans of worms at the same time and making twice as big a mess. “Not yet,” he admitted. Then, before Derek could respond, he rushed to add, “But I’m going to.”

However much Stiles knew it was the right thing to do, telling Scott, it didn’t make him feel any better about the fury streaking across Derek’s face. It was his turn to be silent and pissed as he scooped up the duffel and threw it over his shoulder without spilling anything from the open top or flinching at the weight. In seconds, Derek was gone, and Stiles felt even more like an asshole.

— 

“Alright, so we’ll just take the Jeep back to your place, okay? I’m thinking game until moonrise, and then I’ll put on something nice and soothing while you rage. Dude, we could watch _Fantasia_.” Stiles shifted his backpack up and turned the corner toward the locker room.

Would getting Scott tired before the moon came up help him stay calm? Maybe they should practice for a while in the backyard. Or would that just get him amped up too soon?

Scott huffed. “I’m not going to _rage_.”

Rather than respond verbally, Stiles just made a noise of pure disbelief.

“I’m _serious_. It’s not like the last full moon. I don’t feel the same.”

Stiles snorted. “Oh, does that include the urge to maim and kill people, like me?”

“I swear I don’t have the urge to maim and kill you.”

Even though Scott had lowered his voice as they entered the locker room, Stiles brought his own down to a near whisper. “You know, you say that now, but then the full moon goes up and out come the fangs and the claws and there’s a lot of howling and screaming and running everywhere, okay? It’s very _stressful_ on me and so _yes_ , I’m still locking you up.” He refused to have Scott talk him out of this.

But Scott acquiesced surprisingly easily. “Okay, fine. But I do think I’m in more control. Especially since things are good with Allison.”

It was funny that Scott said that like it was a good thing he was still sneaking around having sex with his hunter girlfriend, and by funny, Stiles meant incredibly annoying. “Okay, I’m aware of how good things are with Allison,” he deadpanned. He’d heard about it far too much, in far too much detail.

“They’re _really_ good,” Scott gushed.

“I—thank you, I know.”

“I mean, like… _really good_.”

“Alright, I get it!” Stiles burst. “Just please shut the hell up, before I have the urge to maim and kill myself.”

As if it wasn’t bad enough Scott was doing dangerous shit just for the chance to get laid, Stiles was nowhere near a situation like that. He hadn’t even seen Lydia yet, even though he knew she was supposed to be coming back to school today. If he had his way, Stiles would have skipped morning practice to go make sure she got to class safely, but he was pretty sure Allison had it covered, since she was going to give Lydia a ride to school.

Stiles wasn’t sure when he’d become good friends with Allison, but she seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to who knew about the whole werewolf thing that wasn’t in danger of getting a bullet in their chest for being seen with her. And Stiles himself was enjoying knowing someone in the know was watching out for Lydia when he couldn’t.

“Alright, did you get something better than handcuffs this time?” Scott asked, still making no move to go to his own locker and get dressed.

And that hurt a little, because Stiles _had_ chains last month. He had shackles and rope and he was up for whatever would help Scott be the most comfortable, but then Scott’d gone apeshit and the handcuffs were the best he could do, okay? It wasn’t like Scott’d taken any initiative to find his _own_ restraints. He wasn’t the one who’d spent an incredibly awkward ten minutes in the local sex shop wondering if there was a kind of restraint that wouldn’t leave bruises or chafe before bolting for the nearest hardware store when one of the workers looked like they were coming over to ask for his I.D.

“Yeah, much better.” Stiles slid his backpack off his shoulder and unlatched his locker. It’d barely opened an inch when the rapid clinking of metal made Stiles want to bolt again.

Link by link, the chain he’d stuffed in the top shelf the day before slid down to settle in a big pile on the floor, catching the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

A solemn presence came up to Stiles’ side, and he looked over, actually preferring the baffled, frightened face of Finstock to the hoots and chuckles coming from his teammates. This _definitely_ wouldn’t help his reputation.

“Part of me wants to ask, the other part says _knowing_ will be more disturbing than anything I could ever imagine. So, I—I’m gonna walk away.”

All Stiles could think to do was point a hand at him. “That’s good. That’s a wise choice, Coach.”

He took a solid second to just force his embarrassment down before gesturing at Scott and crouching down to pick up the chains. Well, while he was already feeling idiotic, he might as well spill the beans. “Listen, Scott, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about—”

Stiles paused at the look on Scott’s face. He was staring around the room, scanning it for something that’d caught his interest.

“Uh, Scott? This is kind of like, important. I mean, it’s not a _huge_ deal or anything, nothing to freak out about, I just—”

“There’s another. In here, right now.”

Stiles froze at Scott’s word. No, no, no. “Another what?”

“Another werewolf.”

Fuck. Damn it. Stiles couldn’t decide if it was worse that Scott’d found out in the first place, or that he’d found out before Stiles had a chance to tell him.

Mere moments later, Scott frowned and stood up. “It’s gone now.”

Taking a chance, Stiles dove for his equipment and just kicked the chain under the lip of the locker door, forcing himself not to look toward Isaac’s own locker in the corner. “What’s gone? The werewolf? Are you sure it wasn’t just Derek lurking around?”

“Why would he be in the locker room?” Still, Scott headed over to his own cubby and started to switch to his gear.

This was the perfect time to explain, to tell Scott before he found out any worse way, but Stiles couldn’t make his tongue do the work. There was no way to win here. If he told Scott now, Derek would be furious and Isaac would be betrayed. If he didn’t, Scott would find out anyway and be pissed at Stiles, and probably even more pissed at Derek. He should just get it over with, shouldn’t he? But…why did Scott need to know anyway? Sure, there was another werewolf in town, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Why couldn’t he just wait, like Derek said? Just wait a couple days. If Isaac could stay hidden that long.

Stiles tensed when they headed to the field, but the fresh air and breeze seemed to be screwing with Scott’s ability to scent Isaac, whom Stiles could now see was as far across the field as possible.

“It was kind of like a scent, but I couldn’t tell who it was. If I could just get them one-on-one.” 

Thinking fast and hating himself for every second of it, Stiles slapped Scott’s arm. “Here, I have a plan.”

If he could just keep Scott away from Isaac for a little while longer, then Derek or Isaac could tell him themselves. The easiest way to do that was to put him in goal. Sure, technically he’d come into contact with every player, but from a distance. Since Danny was usually goal, Stiles jogged over to where he stood on the field, goalie crosse in hand.

Danny watched him approach with an abnormal amount of interest. Stiles had been on his radar about as much as Lydia’s the last five years, but now he was being studied with a keen eye. Did this mean he’d changed his mind about finding Stiles attractive?

He’d barely opened his mouth when Danny said, “So, you missed the last game.”

“Uh, yeah. Listen, would you mind switching with Scott for the day? He wants to practice goal.” Isaac could only stand on the outskirts of the field for so long before Coach corralled them all.

“You missed the game, after kicking me out of the house. What did you and…what was that guy’s name?”

It took a moment for Stiles to remember himself. “M—Miguel. My—uh…” Had he said cousin, or childhood friend? Oh god, he hadn’t said long-lost brother or something, had he?

“Your cousin? Right?”

“Right! So, can Scott—”

“What were you guys doing that you missed the game?”

The interrogation was way past Stiles’ comfort zone. “I had to take care of something, alright? Now, can Scott switch with you or not?”

Abruptly, Danny went solemn and stood up, looking over Stiles’ shoulder. “Uh, yeah.” At the last second, as he handed over the goalie crosse, he smirked. “But only because you got me an A on that lab.”

“Like you needed any help,” Stiles snorted. As Danny walked away, Stiles spun in a circle to find what Danny was looking at. Sure enough, lurking at the edge of the treeline behind the school, was a dark blob that could only be a certain overprotective Alpha. Sighing softly, Stiles made a small thumbs up at his chest that couldn’t be seen by Scott behind him and whispered, “Oh, thank _god_.”

Shooting a small smile in Isaac’s direction, Stiles headed back to Scott and gave him the crosse.

Stiles hadn’t been expecting _this_. With Isaac right ahead of him, Stiles could only watch as Scott knocked down one player after another, completely abandoning his goal despite Coach’s yelling. This was the exact opposite of his plan.

After the third time Scott bodyslammed one of their own teammates into the ground to sniff at them like a dog, Stiles’ helmet was yanked sideways.

“Stilinski, what the hell is wrong with your friend?” Finstock asked.

Fumbling, Stiles stammered, “Uh, he’s—he’s failing two classes, he’s a little socially awkward, and if you look close enough, his jawline’s kind of uneven.”

Finstock turned to stare at Scott, tilting his head. “That’s interesting,” he noted, letting Stiles go and storming over to shout at Scott some more.

Jackson backed out of the line, clearly alarmed by Scott’s aggression, and that left Isaac. His shoulders in front of Stiles were heaving and Stiles was well versed by now in signs that a werewolf was losing control. Against every instinct that told him _not_ to touch Isaac, Stiles reached out the hand he was sure Scott couldn’t see and tugged lightly at the back of Isaac’s jersey.

There was no real response, because anything would be noticed by Scott, but Isaac at least didn’t look like he was about to drop to his knees anymore. Though it was hard to tell through his jersey, pads, and helmet.

Different from the other guys that Scott’d flipped in the air like pancakes, Isaac collided with Scott at a force that had to _hurt_ and the two of them spun together in the air, landing in mirrored positions in the grass. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d have said _Scott_ was the one who looked winded, not Isaac. He barely caught a glimpse of Derek’s figure coming closer before he was distracted by the sight of his own dad storming up the green from the parking lot in full Sheriff Mode.

His first thought was that they were here for Derek, his second that Stiles himself was in trouble, but his dad ignored him completely and led his deputies over to Isaac. What did Isaac have to do with anything?

Practice came to an awkward standstill while Isaac was being interrogated, and Scott came up to Stiles’ side to relay the conversation, with a few choice additions of his own.

“It’s him. He’s the other werewolf. His father’s dead. They think he was murdered.”

Stiles’ heart pounded. “Are they saying he’s a suspect?”

Scott didn’t look away from the cops, but he did shake his head a little. “Not sure, why?”

“Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours.” He said it as much for Derek’s benefit as Scott’s.

“Like, overnight?” Scott clarified.

“During the full moon.”

Finally turning to face Stiles, Scott’s voice dropped. “How good are these holding cells at holding people?”

“People, good. Werewolves, probably not that good.”

Scott leaned even closer. “Stiles, remember when I said I don’t have the urge to maim and kill?”

Immediately, Stiles tensed. “Yeah?” He was ready, the chains were in the locker room, maybe if he—

“He does.”

“ _What?_ ”

Isaac looked over his shoulder as Noah led him off the field, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether to smile or tell him to just _run_ for it. He’d clearly heard Scott.

Stiles had to let the question drop when Finstock blew his whistle, but once they were done showering and he’d fired off a text to Derek with about fifteen exclamation points, he grabbed Scott’s shoulder at the door to the hall. “Dude, what did you mean? Did you like, smell it on him?”

“Well, no,” Scott admitted. “But this is his first full moon. He has, like, no control.”

He’d apparently had enough control to keep Scott from noticing he was a werewolf for all of yesterday, but Stiles didn’t want to poke at that. “Well, yeah, but you were also dealing with Allison. At least Derek’ll be around to help Isaac like he was for you.”

The cop cars outside didn’t move after first period, or second. Stiles let himself hope that maybe the long time Isaac was spending in the office meant they weren’t going to be bringing him to the station. Maybe they’d just let him go.

In Chemistry, Scott interrupted Stiles’ worrying. “Why would Derek choose Isaac?”

Stiles knew the answer, but as he’d already promised Isaac not to say anything, he pulled a different answer out of his ass. “Peter told me that if the bite doesn’t turn you it could kill you. Maybe teenagers have a better chance of surviving?”

There was no response to Stiles’ admission of talking to Peter personally. Scott just looked at him. “Does being a teenager mean your dad can’t hold him?”

“Not unless they have solid evidence…or a witness. Wait.” Stiles spun around in his chair to stare at Danny just behind the both of them. The seat next to him was unusually empty. “Danny, where’s Jackson?”

Danny shrugged at them, as serene as usual. God, did he do yoga or something to be that calm? “In the principal’s office, talking to your dad.”

Even as Stiles jerked in alarm and hissed, “What, why?” he couldn’t help being grateful to Danny. Like Lydia, he’d never given a single crap about Stiles’ dad being the sheriff, even with his previous experiences with law enforcement.

“Maybe because he lives across the street from Isaac,” Danny sighed, exasperated.

“Witness,” Scott muttered.

Stiles turned back around to look at Scott and accepted his fate. “We gotta get to the principal’s office.”

“How?”

For the record, Scott threw the paper ball at the back of Harris’ head. His aim was better, and hell, if they were gonna go to the principal’s office anyway, Stiles wanted to be sure it was a direct hit.

He tried not to flinch once they were outside the office and Scott started listening in, eyes widening rapidly until he looked like they might pop out of his head. “Isaac’s dad was _beating_ him, and Jackson knew the whole time. Dude, your dad is pissed. There’s no way they aren’t going to keep Isaac now.”

Scott didn’t warn Stiles about his dad exiting the office, so at the first glance of tan uniform, Stiles snatched up the nearest magazine and held it over his face. He was about thirty-eight percent sure he was successful, but that went down to fifteen at the look on Scott’s face as Stiles’ dad said hello and left. There would be another lecture tonight, for sure.

“Boys,” said a voice to Stiles’ left.

That wasn’t their principal.

It was the man they’d seen at the funeral, Allison’s grandfather. The Argent that’d cut an Omega werewolf in half with a _sword_. And here he was, as gentle as anything, ushering them into what was apparently now _his_ office.

Once they’d settled, Argent pulled two files out of a cabinet and flipped the first one open. “Scott McCall. Academically, not the most accomplished, but I see you have become quite the star athlete.”

Switching files, Argent squinted at the label for a second before looking at Stiles. “Mr. Stilinski.” Smooth recovery, compared to how most people butchered their way through at least one attempt of his first name. “Ooh, perfect grades, but little to no extracurriculars.” He dropped Stiles’ file onto the desk. “Maybe you should try lacrosse.”

“Oh, actually, I’m already—”

Argent held up a single finger toward Stiles. “Hold on.” Then, he looked at Scott. “McCall. You’re the Scott that was dating my granddaughter.”

Scott could be cool, Stiles _knew_ Scott could be cool because he’d heard it when Scott faced Chris while hanging from a trap. And yet, looking into this Argent’s eyes, Scott nearly crumbled. “We _were_ dating, but not anymore. Not dating, not seeing any of each other or doing anything with each other at all…”

“Relax, Scott. You look like you’re about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth,” Argent joked.

Somehow the reference to death wasn’t particularly reassuring for Stiles, and it looked like Scott agreed. He sank a little further into his chair. “Just a hard breakup.”

Argent actually sounded empathetic as he mused, “Oh, that’s too bad. You seem like a pretty nice kid to me.” In a blink he’d changed subjects and demeanors. “Now, listen, guys. Yes, I am the principal, but I really don’t want you to think of me as the enemy.”

Stiles couldn’t keep the small snort in. “Is that so?”

This was an Argent, who’d done _something_ to make their usual principal disappear. What if he was dead? And now this guy was just sitting here, acting all buddy-buddy with Scott.

“However,” Argent rolled right past Stiles’ words, “this being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So, unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention.”

The insistent pressure of two pairs of eyes on Stiles’ head made him look up from where he’d been twiddling his fingers. Not only was Scott giving him begging eyes, but Argent was looking at him too. Watching him, like he was waiting for Stiles to do something _more_ than just respond.

Of course, Stiles had to stay. He wasn’t about to leave Scott alone in the office with Gerard—what a dick name—to be interrogated about what happened with Allison. Besides, someone needed to help Derek figure out how to get Isaac out.

As soon as Scott was out the door, Gerard turned all of his attention to Stiles. It kind of made Stiles wish he could go back to being silenced with a finger. “So, Mr. Stilinski. I have a lot of notes about you in this folder. Most of them from a Mr. Harris.”

Stiles was still in his chair, feeling marginally safer with the wooden arms at his sides than he would’ve standing next to the door with Gerard. “Yeah, well, what can I say, the guy doesn’t like me. Listen, actually maybe you could help me out.” If Gerard wanted to play teacher, maybe Stiles could at least get those intimidating looks to work in his favor. “He gives me detention like, constantly. I actually think he has it out for me. So, could you, like, remind him that detention is only supposed to last an hour? I don’t want to be here all night.”

There was enough of a pause that Stiles worried he’d broken some kind of rule about snitching on teachers. Then, Gerard smiled. “I think that’s reasonable.”

As he escorted Stiles back to Harris’ now empty classroom, Stiles tugged out his cell. “Do I get a phone call?” he joked.

When Gerard didn’t answer, Stiles just leaned his screen away from prying eyes and checked his messages.

**Peter Pan: I’m outside.**

**__** _I’ve got detention. Take Scott instead. Isaac’s 4 sure spending the nite in the station. Jackson told them abt his dad. Play nice w/Scott, pls._

It was just his luck that the buzzing of Derek’s response came the same instant they reached Harris’ room and a small, cheap, plastic bucket was shoved in front of Stiles’ nose.

“To help with the temptation,” Harris explained.

Huffing, Stiles dropped his phone in the bucket and went to his seat. He was almost hopeful when Gerard took Harris out into the hall for a talk, but there was something far too pleased about his face when he came back in.

After one hour, Stiles lifted his bag, only to be shot down with a simple. “Sit.”

After an hour and a half, he got all the way out of his chair before Harris flipped a page of homework he was grading and smirked. “Sit down.”

After two hours, Stiles not only had to pee, but he was pretty sure he’d heard the evening janitor locking the other classrooms in the hall. “How long are you gonna keep me here?”

It was more than a little disturbing that every time Stiles saw Harris smiling lately, it was because he was about to ruin Stiles’ night. Just like last time, Harris folded his hands happily and looked Stiles right in the eye. “It turns out that our new principal is in full agreement with me about your obvious need for some extra attention. Therefore, I’ve elected to get all of my paperwork done here, and you can leave when I’m finished. Not a minute sooner.”

Three hours. Stiles was finally released from Harris’ classroom after _sunset_. He barely had time to use the bathroom before his phone was ringing. To his surprise, it wasn’t another missed call from Scott or Derek, but from Allison. He let it ring just a couple times as he flicked through missed messages, then answered the call on his way through the now empty parking lot.

“Hey, sorry, Harris literally just let me out of detention. Literally, and he had my phone the whole fucking time.”

“ _Well, we need to do something right now. They were asking me all these questions about Lydia and how she was bitten by Peter, and then they sent this guy out._ ”

Stiles froze, his keys in one hand, standing in front of his car door. “Wait, what guy?”

“ _He was dressed as a sheriff’s deputy._ ”

That made Stiles far angrier than it should’ve. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the Argents had infiltrated the police force, but that was his _dad’s_ force, damn it. Hunters needed to keep their bloody hands _off_. “They’re sending him to the station for Isaac.”

“ _He was also carrying this box with something on it, like, um, this purple flower.”_

Without hesitation, Stiles shoved his key into the door and growled. “Wolfsbane.”

“ _What, like, from the myths?_ ”

“Exactly. They’re gonna kill him. Allison, I need to get to Derek and Scott. Can you slow this guy down?”

“ _Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll think of something._ ”

Thankfully, the trip to Isaac’s was short, and Derek had left the front door unlocked. That, or he’d broken the lock. Who knew? Stiles found the both of them downstairs, bickering over a freezer.

Confused, Stiles stepped closer and aimed his flashlight at this object of interest. It was just an empty freezer, not even hooked up to anything. The lid was propped open against the wall, but something had tarnished the white paint. Red streaks in sets of five covered the inside of the lid, and when Stiles took another step in, the walls of the unit.

“Stiles? What’s wrong?”

The chime of Scott’s voice rang out like a gong in Stiles’ head and he clamped down on the whine that’d escaped his throat. “H—he, that, _I’m gonna—_ ” His fingers squeezed the flashlight so hard the cheap plastic popped, but there was no pain.

He should have stayed, should’ve ripped Isaac’s dad apart with his own hands so Isaac didn’t have to. For a blazing moment, Stiles desperately wished he was a werewolf himself, able to tear the freezer to pieces.

Suddenly, the freezer was gone, replaced by a green shirt, outlined in black leather. Tight hands shook his shoulders slightly. “Stiles! Focus!”

“Tell me you didn’t touch it,” Stiles blurted. He blinked three times before everything stopped being blurry, and then he was raring to go, buzzing with far too much energy. “Hey, I said, ‘Tell me you didn’t touch it.’”

Scott frowned at him and pushed past Derek to get to Stiles’ side, dislodging Derek’s grip. “He told me to open it up.”

Like two little kids, Derek made a face at Scott. “What does it matter?”

“It matters—” Stiles interrupted, “because that evidence is the only thing keeping Isaac from getting charged with first degree murder. If you guys left your fingerprints all over it, then you’ve just sentenced him to life in prison, great job.”

Derek’s rebuttal was a surprise. “Just having the freezer won’t be enough to keep Isaac out of jail. He’ll still get manslaughter even if it’s considered self-defense. If we destroy the evidence instead, he can’t be prosecuted in the first place.”

Stiles turned on Derek, court processes spinning through his head. “They still have a witness and enough circumstantial evidence to keep him as long as they want for questioning, Derek.”

“I can deal with Jackson, and without him the evidence is useless. Trust me, the facts are in Isaac’s favor this way. Besides, he didn’t do it.”

Nearly dropping his flashlight, Stiles froze. “He didn’t? You’re sure?”

“Obviously.”

Right, heartbeats. “Oh thank _fuck_.”

“Hey!” Scott cried. His eyes had shifted to gold and the awkward grip he had on his own light with claws looked uncomfortable. “I thought we were focusing.”

With a single glance at Scott, Derek walked over to a shadowed area of the basement, disappearing in the dark for a moment before he returned, jangling slightly. “Here.” He held out two handfuls of the chain that he’d picked up from Stiles’ place the day before to Scott.

Scott looked first at Derek, then down at the chain, then—to Stiles’ horror—over at the freezer.

“No. No way. No way in _hell_.” Stiles spat, reaching forward to snatch the chains away.

Derek’ sudden grip on his arms stopped him, and he was pulled a foot away. “Stiles, it’s not the same.”

“What the fuck are you on? Of course it’s the—”

“It’s not the same! You need to compartmentalize _now_. Stiles, focus!”

Stiles couldn’t even look at Scott, not while his throat was closing up and he couldn’t get enough air. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I am focusing. You’re the—I’m the human here, remember?” he wheezed.

That just made Derek let him go, even though he hadn’t been hurting Stiles in the least. The loss of contact left Stiles feeling slightly floaty for a second while Derek spoke. “Scott, we’ll get Isaac. Stiles, call Allison, someone needs to help Scott.”

On autopilot, Stiles let himself be directed up the stairs and out to the street as he pulled his phone out. Derek’s car was nowhere to be found, so Stiles just headed for the Jeep, the phone ringing in his ear. The fresh air helped him calm down in time for Allison to pick up, and he was able to tune his voice in to his well-practiced, “I’m in control” tone as he clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the car on.

“Hey, did you slow him down?”

In the passenger’s seat, Derek was staring, eyes trained on Stiles’ chest.

“ _You could say that_.”

Stiles took a slightly shaky breath and kept his voice firm. “Alright, well, uh, I’m headed to the station right now.”

“ _Where’s Scott?_ ”

“Isaac’s _._ ” One word answers, easy facts. Stiles could manage that.

“ _Does he have a plan?_ ”

Squeezing and rubbing at the rubber over his steering wheel, Stiles said, “Yeah, but not a very good one. And, unfortunately, we don’t really have time to come up with anything better.”

He glanced over at Derekwhen Allison hung up. “Stop looking at me.”

His heart was still pounding and Stiles wanted nothing more than to roll down the window but he wasn’t willing to let go of the wheel so Derek could see how his hands were trembling. Why were his hands trembling? What the hell had happened to make him panic like that right in front of Scott?

“What was that? Tell me what that was,” he demanded.

Finally, Derek stopped looking at Stiles and turned his head toward the road instead. “That was a pack bond.”

“A _what_? What the hell is a ‘pack bond?’ Are you making this—”

The small growl thrown Stiles’ way quieted him.

Derek sighed shortly. “The bond is the difference between being friends with someone and having them in your pack. As a human, you can’t feel it, but it can still affect you. The connection between you and your pack members can make you especially protective of them. Isaac being in trouble right now is setting you off.”

Stiles gaped at the road, letting the lights of passing cars wash over him. “Wait, what do you mean feel it? How is it supposed to feel?” Because Stiles could definitely feel _something_. Was this what that fire in his chest had been the night Isaac was bitten? He’d been angry from the start, even before Isaac became a werewolf.

Then again, Isaac had basically joined Derek’s pack when Derek offered him the bite in the first place, right? What did it really take to “join” a pack? It couldn’t just be a general feeling, could it?

“For us, it’s like string. It starts at your center of gravity and stretches out to each pack member, keeping you balanced. Stronger or weaker, depending on the bond and the level of trust between two members.”

They were close to the station, and Stiles was running out of time to ask questions. Finally, he just asked, “What’s mine like?”

Derek just looked at him, staring again with those furrowed brows. That couldn’t be a good sign.

As they rolled up to the front of the station, Stiles went into work mode. “Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office. The problem is getting past the front desk. Tara knows for a fact I’m not supposed to be here while my dad’s on patrol, so I need a good reason for her to let me through.”

“I’ll distract her.” Derek was strangely calm as he unlatched the car door.

“Woah, woah, _woah_ ,” Stiles said, but Derek kept leaning out the door. Desperate, he reached out and grabbed Derek’s arm, pulling at his jacket until he let the door fall shut again. “You? You’re not going in there!”

Derek flicked his eyes rapidly between Stiles’ hand and his face until Stiles yanked his arm back. This whole no-touching thing sucked, and he was still getting used to it. “I’m taking my hand off.”

“I was exonerated,” Derek offered.

“You’re still a person of interest!”

“An innocent person!”

Stiles threw his hands up, keeping them firmly on his side of the car. “Derek, that’s not the point!”

Derek shrugged at him.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles groaned. “What’s your plan?”

It was like he’d short circuited Derek’s brain. Derek looked to the side, at the rearview mirror, then back at Stiles. “To distract her?” he repeated, incredulously.

“Uh huh? How? By punching her in the face?” Stiles threw his lower jaw forward and made a little _grr_ sound.

Derek’s laugh was barely a full exhale. “By talking to her.”

That might work. “Okay, alright, give me a sample. What are you gonna open with?”

Again, Derek stared at him. What was with the staring?

Stiles sighed. “Dead silence. That should work beautifully. Any other ideas?”

“I’m thinking about punching _you_ in the face,” Derek muttered, but it was heatless.

Crouching behind Derek’s outline as he led the way into the station made Stiles feel like he was ten years old, but it kept him out of sight of the front desk until he could tuck himself into the corner where the coatrack was kept.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Just act casual, but not too casual. Like, you have a reason to be here, but you’re not in any rush. Like, maybe you’re on the way back to your _real_ house, from your _real_ job—”

“Shut up.”

“Got it. You got this. Please get this.”

Stiles was ready to despair the instant Derek walked up to the front desk. He was awkward as hell, so stiff, like a training exercise for when to frisk someone for weapons. Two seconds before Stiles called the whole thing off, Tara walked out from the office, her face buried in a file.

The moment her eyes hit Derek, Stiles knew they had an in.

Derek was _smiling_. Not just the friendly little smirk he’d had that’d put Allison so at ease, but a thousand-watt, “look at me” smile. Why couldn’t he have mentioned before that he had a grin to light the damn sun up? Were those fucking _bunny teeth_?

Trying not to retch as he slipped around Tara’s blind spot, Stiles blocked out any and all flirting that was happening with the woman who helped him with his homework. Logically, he knew she really wasn’t that old, probably no more than ten years older than Stiles. But still, that made her five years older than Derek. She was like family and Derek was like…Derek.

Shudders aside, Stiles got into his dad’s office with ease and popped open the lockbox.

It was empty.

Stiles slipped down the side hall away from the front desk, whispering, “Keep her busy. Don’t you _dare_ ask her out.”

The halls were empty, except for the faint jingling of keys. Stiles chased the sound, ready to pickpocket even his favorite deputies so long as it meant getting Isaac out before he could hurt anybody. Finally, their carrier came into view, exiting another hall at the same time Stiles turned the corner so they nearly collided.

“Oh! Uh, I’m just looking—um.” Something smelled like scrubbed metal, and Stiles looked down at the unfamiliar officer’s legs to see an arrow broken off in his thigh, dripping blood to the floor.

That was definitely _one_ way to slow a guy down. Way to go, Allison.

Still, that left Stiles in a back hall with an injured hunter who most assuredly knew what he was doing there. In fact, in the brief moment before Stiles tried to run away, he thought he recognized the guy from the hospital. He’d been one of Chris’ men as they interrogated him and Jackson.

He could have screamed, but considering that the guy was dragging Stiles toward the cell block, probably about to kill him and then dump his body with Isaac’s, he wasn’t willing to get Tara’s attention. Clearly these hunters didn’t care about human life as much as they claimed to.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do _something_. Kicking wildly, Stiles reached out as they entered the cellblock and flipped the fire alarm. The thug dropped him at the sound, and Stiles tried to scramble out of reach of the massive syringe in the guy’s hand, but stopped at the sight in front of him.

There were three cells in the room. Two, with normal bars for non-violent charges and drunk and disorderlies. The other, a sealed cell with a massive iron door, meant for the big bads. Or, the werewolf teenagers accused of killing their parents. Out of the two, Stiles was immensely disappointed and terrified to see that Isaac’s door was the one busted open. That was gonna be hard to explain.

Isaac slammed into the hunter from the side and threw him backward onto the filing desk that Stiles was currently trying to hide behind. His view was blocked for a moment as he shuffled to safety, but he heard the distinct thunk of a head hitting a wall, and the clink of glass hitting the floor without shattering.

He twisted his head just in time to watch Derek storm in and smash the syringe under his heel with a fully appropriate amount of disgust. Then Stiles was a little distracted by the batshit feral face of Isaac snarling at him and getting closer. Again, no fire extinguisher. Stiles needed to start carrying one around.

But before Isaac could get more than a foot toward Stiles’ vicinity, he was utterly _cowed_ by a hair-raising roar from Derek that Stiles really wished he could see from this angle. It sent Isaac straight to the ground, folding in on himself against the far wall. After a moment, he lifted his perfectly human face to stare at Derek.

Holy shit. Stiles didn’t know that the forced shift could happen in reverse. “How did you do that?” he asked, wincing a little at the waver in his voice. Too much adrenaline was making it hard to come down.

“I’m the Alpha,” Derek offered simply. There was none of the magical undertone that he’d had the last time he said it, just pure Derek looking far too pleased with himself.

Still, it had been impressive. “Well, thank you, Alpha,” Stiles only half snarked. He stumbled a little and stubbed his toe on the desk, but soon Stiles was standing.

Isaac, however, was still cowering.

“Isaac? You okay?” Stiles asked. He’d learned his lesson with the _both_ of them, so Stiles kept a few feet away from Isaac and Derek, but still stepped into better view. “Uh, buddy? Listen, you need to leave with Derek.”

He could see Derek inching closer, clearly about to just drag Isaac out before any other officers showed up to deal with the fire alarm that was still going off. Stiles was fully willing to blame the pack bond on how badly he did _not_ want that to happen, no matter what Derek’s intent was.

He took his own shuffle closer and knelt down. “Isaac. Look at me, dude.”

To his credit, Isaac looked.

“You need to leave with Derek. Get out of here before everyone shows up.” Stiles looked over at Derek for a second. “I’ll deal with the cops, just bail and lay low for a while.” Then, he turned back to Isaac. “Can you do that?”

Slowly, too slowly, Isaac nodded and stood up.

Stiles nodded encouragingly before giving Derek a few more instructions. “Go out the back, it’ll set off the alarm, but the alarms are already going haywire so we can blame it on that. It’s a left, right, left out the door. Now both of you, _go_. I’ll let Scott know what happened.”

It took another soft shooing motion in Isaac’s direction for him to head out, closely guarded by Derek at his back. Then, Stiles was just alone with the hunter. He was a little afraid to check if the guy was breathing, but after a few moments, the hunter groaned. Definitely alive.

A story, he needed a story. There was a crushed syringe on the ground, that could work. An arrow in the dude’s leg was pretty weird. And then the whole cell door being forced open. Drugs. Drugs were the perfect answer, and Stiles was just an innocent passerby. Yeah.

There was a painful irony in the first cop on the scene being his own father. Make that two lectures tonight. One for the principal’s office, one for becoming a witness to a crime. The only thing Stiles could think to say in his defense when faced with his father’s confusion was a simple point and blame. “Uh, he did it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Isaac is my baby and I love him and he deserves all the niceness. Plus, extra scenes with Derek are the most glorious thing in the world. I'm serious, whenever I'm writing him and Stiles together, it's like effortless. The words just _happen_.  
> Let me know what you think of what I'm doing so far!


	3. Episode 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, uh, you guys might hate me for this one, but ugh, you've no idea how fun it was to write. <3 <3

**Chapter 3**

“So you’re telling me that you didn’t see _anything_?”

Stiles yawned while shrugging his shoulders. “For the tenth time, no. I was looking for you, alright? I just walked in and he was there, and the door was all messed up, and then you showed up.”

He’d given up on any kind of coherent story almost as soon as his dad started questioning him. There was no way he’d be able to keep his details straight enough to avoid outing himself or the supernatural in general. Instead, he was as vague as possible, meeting Noah’s keen eyes with his best impression of Scott’s confused puppy look.

The chairs in his dad’s office were a little too sharp around the edges of the seat, and they dug into Stiles’ skinny thighs, but at least it kept him awake. Over two hours of giving his dad the runaround was wearing him down. He couldn’t get more than a single text out to Scott to warn him about getting rid of the chains and freezer before his dad confiscated his phone, and on top of everything else, he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

Noah finally took mercy on him at one in the morning, sending him home where he had a Hot Pocket and fell into bed.

A single message from Derek stating, _“He’s fine,”_ wasn’t enough to keep Stiles from worrying. Neither was Scott’s insistence that he and Allison had taken the broken freezer pieces out to the edge of town and thrown them in a dumpster. Even seeing Isaac’s definitively empty chair in Chemistry after he’d been gone from practice and Finstock issuing a warning about reporting any sightings to the nearest teacher didn’t calm him down.

Now, Stiles knew what was causing his anxiety. A pack bond. It was so…metaphysical. More magical than anything else he’d seen so far, including the glowing eyes.

During school, he was able to distract himself from it by actually paying attention in class, but afterward, Stiles went home with the express plan to research “bonds” between people until he passed out. Only, there was something off about his room when he stepped in.

At first glance, it was the same, as cluttered as usual. But Stiles was always sensitive to minute changes, and he just _knew_ something was different. Or, multiple somethings, as he discovered. Not only were two of his books missing: his copy of _Star Wars_ and for some reason the third _Artemis Fowl_ book, but his laptop was open and there was a tab of Google results on ‘adoption’ open.

After checking for any other disturbances, Stiles checked his computer’s recent history and found that _whoever_ had been in his room had checked about ten different adoption Frequently Asked Questions websites, along with a couple on California emancipation laws.

Whipping his phone out, Stiles clicked through a few of the websites himself.

_So. Is there smthing u want 2 tell me?_

It was a pleasant surprise when his phone buzzed mere moments later.

**Peter Pan: I told you he’s fine.**

_Sooo not what im talking abt. Ur gonna adopt Isaac?_

**Peter Pan: No. I don’t meet the requirements to legally foster or adopt him.**

**__** _Clrly. But he can’t b emancipated either._

**Peter Pan: I know.**

**__** _I have a better idea_

**Peter Pan: What?**

**__** _1st off, if ur gonna sneak into my room and steal my books, Tell Me. Also, y the 3rd one??_

_2nd, the requirements for adoption if ur named in a will are like, nothing_

_We shld fake a will. Ur family’s lived here 4 yrs, we can just say ur an old family frnd or smthing_

**Peter Pan: I was accused of murder, Stiles.**

**__** _O, my bad. I thought u were ExOnErAtEd_

_Ill draw 1 up 4 Isaac 2 look at. Next time ur bein’ creepy, just pick it up. Nd don’t get caught by my dad. Ill send u his schedule_

_Nd don’t look at my internet hstry_

_Hey, Derek?_

**Peter Pan: What?**

**__** _Tell me again_

**Peter Pan: He’s okay, just bored.**

_Good_

Stiles had the sudden urge to go make his dad steak for dinner. If this was even remotely what it felt like to have a kid, Stiles couldn’t even blame him for the high cholesterol. Stupid pack bonds.

He spent all of Saturday filling out sample Last Will and Testaments in Victor Lahey’s name before picking the best of the best and displaying it on his recently organized desk for Derek’s perusal. He also left his cherished Nintendo DS and charger out with a note stating _You break it, Derek buys it_ , because he was weak, okay?

Somehow, it didn’t bother him that Derek, and probably Isaac, were sneaking into his room. Sure, it scared the crap out of him that his dad might come back early and find them or someone else would report seeing them climb through Stiles’ window, but Stiles was pretty sure Derek was too paranoid to let that happen. They lived in an abandoned train depot for fuck’s sake, they probably didn’t have anywhere else to do laundry or take a shower.

Actually, on that thought, Stiles added more detergent to the grocery list.

Saturday night, Stiles was just settling into a solo session of Call of Duty when his phone rang. Not looking away from his screen, Stiles tapped his phone to answer the call. “Yo?”

“ _Can you come outside?_ ”

Stiles nearly dropped his controller as he scrambled to look at the caller. “Allison? You realize this is Stiles, right?”

“ _Of course I do, my parents are checking all my calls and messages. I can’t call Scott._ ”

“Uh, well, he’s not here either.”

“ _Stiles, I called to talk to you. Can you come outside?”_

His distraction had already cost Stiles his character’s life in-game, so Stiles shrugged and put down his controller. “Yeah, okay. Be right there.”

Allison was waiting for him in her car, the engine still running. “Do you wanna go on a drive?” she asked, voice pitched a little higher than normal.

He and Allison had been talking a lot lately, about Lydia and Scott, but Stiles couldn’t think of a reason why she’d be asking him on a drive. Whatever it was, it had to be important, so Stiles clambered into the passenger seat. He’d barely managed to get his seatbelt on before Allison was speeding off.

“Woah,” Stiles soothed. “Look, was that like code on the phone or something? Is everything alright? Where are we going?”

Allison didn’t respond at first, flicking on her blinker a mere moment before making a hard right. She was at least ten miles above the speed limit, and climbing. “I just—I can’t talk to Scott and I can’t talk to Lydia about this stuff. I mean, I just spent two and a half hours tied to a chair, and I think I technically stole a full tank of gas.”

Stiles didn’t know what to address first. Well, actually, he did. “Allison, you’re gonna have to slow the fuck down if you don’t want my dad or one of his deputies to pull you over.” Almost begrudgingly, he felt the car slow to a more appropriate, but still illegal speed. “Okay, now let’s get somewhere you can go wild, you speed demon, you. Take a left here.”

They were right back in the warehouse district a couple minutes later, and Allison sped up accordingly. “It’s my dad, or maybe my mom? He—he said they were starting my training. He and Bennet put this bag over my head and took me to Derek’s house and tied me to a chair.”

“Holy fuck, are you okay?” Stiles looked Allison over and sure enough, in the blue glow of her front dash, her wrists had distinct markings around them. Rope burn. “Ally, you know that’s like ten kinds of illegal, right? We can—”

Stiles was never more thankful in his life that he was wearing a seatbelt, because Allison screeched to a stop in the middle of the road and without that security he’d probably have bashed his head on the dash.

“Stiles, you can’t tell anybody,” Allison ordered. “I asked for this, okay? I told them I wanted to learn and that was lesson one: getting out. I’m—” she paused for a second to gather herself, staring down at her hands on the wheel. “I’m not telling you this because I’m scared or hurt. I’m telling you because…because apparently I’m _good_ at this. Bennet’s one of my dad’s best men, and he said he took three hours to get free his first time. It only took me two and a half, and it would’ve taken me less if I hadn’t spent so long freaking out.

“And it felt _good_ , Stiles. When I stopped that hunter yesterday? I felt _powerful_ and strong, but also…”

“Scared?” Stiles asked. He knew the feeling.

Allison deflated a little. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

Rather than answer directly, Stiles just rolled down the window to get some fresh air and muttered. “So, I take it even if you _could_ talk to Scott about this, you wouldn’t want to?”

Shrugging, Allison pulled forward again at a much calmer speed. “It doesn’t feel right to tell my werewolf boyfriend all about how I’m being trained to hunt other werewolves. But, that’s not what I wanna use it for. I helped save Isaac, and that was awesome. I wanna keep doing that.”

“Hey, I’m _all for_ you helping us out. Just, don’t put yourself in danger, okay? No offense, but your family kind of scares the shit out of me, and I don’t want to get you in trouble. You know Scott doesn’t either.”

The side-eye Allison gave him was well warranted, but Stiles didn’t regret it. “Stiles, can’t you understand that I just… _can’t_ give up on this thing with Scott? Lying to my parents sucks, but I’m not actually doing anything _wrong_. Scott makes me feel normal and I don’t care if I have to lie to my parents for the rest of my life, I’m not letting the fact that they’re gonna overreact keep me from seeing him.”

That, Stiles could definitely empathize with.

It only took a couple moments of sitting in comfortable silence for Stiles to pipe up with an idea. “If you’re gonna insist on dating my best friend in secret, you could at least have a decent alibi and go on a real date.”

“I take it you have a suggestion?” Allison snorted.

“Obviously.”

— 

Dealing with Finstock in morning practice nearly every day of the week was bad enough, but having him in gym class, right after lunch, indoors, was far worse. Now his voice didn’t just ring in Stiles’ ears while he ran laps, it reverberated around the auditorium-cum-gynmasium until Stiles wasn’t sure how Scott was even standing. Or rather, climbing.

Actually, Stiles wasn’t surprised that Scott was doing just fine, because he was busy flirting up a storm with Allison, who just _happened_ to be chosen as his climbing partner on the rock wall. The dumb luck of it all.

When it was his turn, Stiles threw himself into the task. If he couldn’t show off his prowess on the lacrosse field, he could at least make Finstock think twice about how he’d pulled him off first line just because he missed the game. Besides, as spindly as Stiles was, he had near perfect hand-eye coordination from all those videogames.

He skittered up the wall, not unlike a spider monkey, then rappelled back down, panting. After a quick cheer to himself at his record time, he went to unhook himself from the rope.

“ _Oh, please,_ ” came a whimper from above him.

He hadn’t even noticed that Erica Reyes was his partner, but now she was clinging to the plastic handholds for dear life halfway up the wall. Oh god, wasn’t she afraid of heights?

As Erica began to hyperventilate, Finstock and the rest of class crowded around the mat.

“Erica?” Finstock called up. “Are you dizzy? Is it vertigo?”

Allison and Lydia had come up to Stiles’ side, but Lydia seemed completely unsympathetic. "Vertigo is a dysfunction of the vestibular system of the inner ear. Erica is suffering from acute acrophobia. She's freaked out by heights.”

Finstock called up to Erica again, and after a moment Erica called back in a barely there voice, “I’m fine.”

It was Allison who finally had the sense to say, “Coach, maybe it’s not safe. You know she’s epileptic.”

Apparently Coach did _not_ know, and he immediately began to stammer, “Why—why doesn’t anybody tell me this stuff?” With a huff and a fake smile, he raised his arms to gesture. “Erica, y—you’re fine. Just, kick off from the wall. There’s a mat to catch you.”

For a few hair-raising seconds, Erica didn’t move. Stiles was about ready to climb back up to her and lead her down, but then, she disconnected from the wall and came slowly back down to the ground. With rough jerks of her harness, Erica tore herself free and shoved her way through the crowd toward the girl’s locker room, leaving the rest of the class to jump right back into their routine.

In moments, Finstock had another set of kids climbing up, and Stiles was running laps behind Scott and Allison.

In the locker room, Finstock gave another warning about contacting him if Isaac was spotted, and Stiles’ eyes darted to his locker on reflex.

“Isaac?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, dad’s going _nuts_ looking for him. Derek says he’s fine though.”

Stiles’ lacrosse locker was across the room from Scott’s, but their gym lockers were right beside each other, so Stiles didn’t miss a word when Scott headed over to it and muttered, “So, I’m thinking tomorrow’s just not a good idea.”

“What?” Stiles burst, snatching at the collar of his own shirt. “What do you mean tomorrow night’s not a good idea?”

“I don’t know. Just, that thing we saw the other night, Isaac missing, Allison’s grandfather. All this stuff happening with Derek, I just—”

Stiles took less than half of the first sentence to get his gym shirt off and his school shirt on, so he had plenty of time to grab Scott’s shoulder. “Hey, dude, first off, Isaac’s _not_ missing. He’s safe, with Derek. Second, what stuff with Derek? Did you guys get in another fight? I told him to play nice!”

He’d only just reached for his phone to send Derek a scolding of some kind when it buzzed.

**Unknown: Get to the gym!!!!!**

“Uh, Scott?” Stiles murmured, “I think we should—we should get to the gym.”

He started moving before Scott had even responded, pushing out into the hall, where Allison was just starting to exit the girl’s locker room next door. She frowned down at Stiles’ gym shorts. “Uh, Stiles?”

“The gym,” Stiles repeated.

By the time he’d pulled open the gym door, Stiles was running. He was just in time to see Erica land in a pair of arms, before Isaac’s eyes glowed gold and he set Erica on the floor. Stiles didn’t even get the chance to call his name before Isaac was making a run for it through the field doors.

On the floor of the gym, Erica was spasming rapidly, arms curled up to her chest and small heaving gasps cutting out of her throat.

“Scott, get her on her side,” Allison ordered. “Get her on her side!” Her voice had a ribbon of steel through it and Stiles wasn’t surprised when Scott dropped to his knees and did as he was told, twisting Erica over onto her side so she could scrunch up into a ball.

As Allison ran out to the hall to send someone for the nurse, Stiles knee-walked around to Erica’s head and did his best to lift it onto his lap so at least she’d stop bouncing her skull against the ground. With his right hand, he reached down and pried her fingers apart from where her nails were digging into her palm and let her hold his hand instead. Her grip was vicelike, and Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to let go again even if he wanted to.

When Allison returned, she knelt in front of Erica and watched her intently, her fingers over the stop/start button of a stopwatch on her phone.

“How’d you know?” Stiles asked. “What to do for a seizure?”

Allison closed her eyes for a second and shuddered. “Back in San Francisco, I was friends with this girl, Megan. She—she had epilepsy too, and I was alone with her when she had a seizure. Scared the hell out of me. Her mom taught me what to do.”

By the time the nurse arrived at the gym, Erica’s seizure had stopped and she was simply shuddering on the floor, gripping Stiles’ hand much less painfully while she answered Allison’s questions. Stiles was expecting a stretcher and some burly paramedics to get Erica to the hospital asap, but the lack of urgency was underwhelming. Erica just stood up and leaned on Allison and the nurse a little as they all headed to the office, Allison explaining the circumstances vaguely, but the medical details to perfection.

* * *

Derek hated hospitals. It was one of the few things in his life he couldn’t tie to some kind of horrible memory of his past, though it certainly didn’t help that he’d spent a week sleeping in this one, curled into a chair and listening to Laura beg Uncle Peter to wake up from his coma. Or that said uncle had beaten him to a pulp in another mere weeks ago. No, for as long as he could remember, they’d always freaked him out. A building filled with the dead and dying and sick and pained. The cleaners and antiseptics were hell on his nose and the constant beeping from every single room gave him a migraine. It was impossible to avoid catching the scents off the patients and making a mental note of which ones were getting worse. Knowing something like that was nauseating.

Derek just didn’t like hospitals.

And yet, here he was, slinking through the halls toward the scent that Isaac had pointed out. The one that carried the faint tang of fresh blood like a perfume rather than as a side effect of an injury.

When his search ended in a room that had two heartbeats, rather than one, behind the door, Derek stopped and found a place to listen in where he wouldn’t be seen by people orcameras.

“It’s been a while since we saw you, Erica. You were being so good about taking your medication.” That was Scott’s mother’s voice. The nurse who carried mace. The one whose account Jennifer had hacked to send that text message.

And there, the soft, near whimpering voice of a teenage girl. “I never stopped taking it…”

“Oh.” Ms. McCall sighed. Her voice was pure disappointment and empathy.

“Are you gonna tell my mom?”

Ms. McCall was still being kind, but there was an undercurrent of worry that set Derek’s teeth on edge. “Well, I swear I don’t want to, but, there’s this team of lawyers in the back who would break my legs, and I don’t know if you’ve seen my legs, but for a girl my age, they’re still pretty hot. So…”

Erica’s laugh was exhausted and not fooled for a minute.

“Doctor’s gonna be in in a minute, okay, and we’ll get you set up with some new meds that’ll help.”

“Okay,” Erica whispered.

The moment Ms. McCall was out of the room, Derek stepped in. She looked more ill than he’d ever seen another person before, already passed out on the rolling bed. At least she wouldn’t be bothered by his movement. An orange prescription bottle sat on the counter, and he grabbed it.

With the doctor on the way, Derek was grateful Erica wasn’t hooked up to anything and he could just roll her gurney down the hall toward a darkened room he’d noted on the way in. Somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Isaac had already reminded Derek twice before he left that while offering the bite of a werewolf in a hospital was creepy, it wasn’t nearly as creepy as offering it in an actual graveyard. It would appear Derek was improving.

They were nearly there when Erica’s eyes flickered open. Instinctively, Derek put two fingers to her forehead and drew out any pain he could find. A surprising amount seeped up his wrist, but it did the trick in calming her before she could draw attention to them. He had mere seconds before the hall was no longer vacant.

Maybe he wasn’t improving, because the room he’d clocked as empty was actually the morgue. It was too late anyway, so Derek just wheeled Erica in and settled her cart in an empty space. She was awake properly now, and panicking. Derek backed up to the far counter and took the pills out.

There were only a couple of the little white tablets left, and the name of them was something Derek didn’t even want to try to pronounce, so he just went to the other end of the label and began to read out loud. “Side effects may include: anxiety, weight gain, acne, ulcerative colitis…yeesh.”

“Who are you?” There was a small bit of bite to her words now as she sat up, and Derek smiled at the glimpse of the girl beyond the illness.

“We have a friend in common. I’ve been doing a kind of…search. For people that I can help. Isaac Lahey suggested you as a candidate.”

That got Erica up, and she slid her legs over the edge of the gurney. “Isaac, the guy who they’re saying killed his dad?”

Derek winced. Isaac had just as bad a reputation as he did now. “Yes, that Isaac. He thought you could use my help.”

“Oh, yeah? And how exactly can you help me?”

He’d done a little research on the subject of seizures. Just enough to get him through this conversation. Human diseases were disturbing enough that he avoided the subject. “You get a…warning, right before you have a seizure.”

Erica deflated at that, shrinking in on herself. “It’s called an aura. It’s…it’s like a metallic taste in my mouth.”

Derek could hear the half-truth there. The tiny dip to her heartbeat before she even spoke. “You don’t have to lie, Erica. What’s it really taste like?”

“It tastes like blood,” Erica whimpered. The mere mention of having another seizure was enough to bring her to tears.

Done with waiting, Derek stepped closer to the cart. “I have an option for you. It’s not a charity, I expect something back. But this—this gift…It could make that all go away, Erica. The seizures, the side effects, all of it. You would be healthier than you’ve ever been before.”

The look of desperation mixed with hope on her face was nearly identical to Isaac’s. “How?”

“Let me show you,” Derek said. Ever so slowly, he let his eyes bleed into red, watching the room shift into a world of reds and greens. Everything hot, like Erica’s torso and the machines on standby lit up just a little brighter, more vibrant than the rest of the world. Erica herself grew more vibrant as she began to panic, her body temperature rising along with her heart rate.

Before Erica could scramble away from the cot, Derek backed himself up, giving her the space she craved and shifting his eyes back down to their mortal state. “I’m sure you have questions.”

Exactly as Derek had hoped, Erica took full advantage of the invitation to interrogate him, completely ignoring that she was still in a hospital gown and that there were likely doctors and nurses looking for her. He spent the better part of an hour keeping his distance, shifting his face up and down from his Beta shift to let her adjust to the view, and answering her queries. He had to be the one to leave, sending her back to the worried woman who’d begun wandering the hall outside. Just like with Isaac, he gave her the address and told her to come visit if she had any more questions. Maybe, within a couple days, he’d have another Beta.

Or, maybe a couple hours. Derek had only been back at the depot long enough to get Isaac food and read through the proposed will that Stiles had written before there was a knock on the front door above their heads.

Erica didn’t look much better than she had at the hospital, but she was wearing real clothes and had her frizzy hair tied back in a loose bun.

“I want it.”

So far every one of Derek’s new Betas had come to him and demanded the bite. Except Stiles, who’d more or less coerced him into joining the pack without it. That wasn’t the plan. They were supposed to take their time and make their choice rationally, so that Derek could be sure they were serious. He didn’t need another Scott McCall or Jackson Whittemore running around. He needed a pack.

Before he could answer, Isaac appeared at his side. “Erica! You came!”

Isaac wasn’t careful about staying out of Derek’s personal space. He didn’t need to be. They had a mutual understanding of no casual touching as best as they could help it, and Isaac kept his end of the deal well. Leaning around Derek’s arm at a good distance, Isaac smirked and his eyes flickered on like faulty lamps. He didn’t quite have the hang of it yet, but hours stuck in the depot had given him plenty of time to practice and show off to Derek.

Now he had someone new to show off to, and Erica looked appropriately impressed. “They’re not red. Will mine be yellow?”

“Yup,” Isaac said. “Come on in.”

There, Erica hesitated.

Derek tried not to sigh as she looked around the empty block and then back at first Isaac, then Derek.

“You’re safe here, Erica,” he said. Then, because he was feeling a little off-kilter at how quickly she’d come to see him, he added, “What happened?”

It was what had sent Isaac running to him, and with her situation, it was a toss up whether Erica was dealing with that kind of urgency.

Though Isaac had taken immense pleasure in saying Derek was about as comforting after the full moon as a saber-tooth tiger, Erica seemed to relax at his words and actually stepped in the doorway, following Isaac down the stairs. One of her hands gripped the railing so tightly, Derek was a little worried she would cut herself on a jagged edge.

“It’s my parents,” Erica explained. “They found out about my meds not working and…they wanna get the surgery done, since I’m getting worse. My dad’s already talking about calling the center up in Oregon. I—I don’t want the surgery. I want to stay here, and I want to be in your…pack.”

Down at the platform, once she was on solid ground, Erica turned back to Derek, eyes wide. “If I could just tell her I’m feeling better, that I really did just stop taking my meds and that they’re still helping. If you _fixed_ me, they wouldn’t make me do it.”

Derek had only just opened his mouth when she continued, “And I can help. I have another name, someone else who you can talk to. I’ll even help you convince him.”

“Who?” Isaac asked, cutting in over Derek’s still open mouth.

But Erica hardened and crossed her arms. “Not until _after._ ”

There was no question about whether Derek was going to give Erica the bite, but he didn’t respond yet. For a fleeting second, he considered calling Stiles over. He’d been there for Isaac’s bite, after all, and had been able to keep Isaac much calmer than Derek himself would’ve.

Stiles had also ratted Isaac out to Scott, just like he’d promised he would. Who was to say if Stiles wouldn’t call Scott right away and send him over to scream at Derek more about him attacking kids who were too innocent to know better?

Isaac had definitely known better, and Erica looked determined as hell standing in front of him now. And they were still here. No, he could tell Stiles afterward, when it was too late for anyone to keep Erica from being healed, and Derek from having another Beta.

The train still smelled like Isaac’s pain from his own bite when Derek led Erica in, but thanks to Stiles’ insistence on a quick cleanup, the seats were clean. He’d already explained the process and Erica didn’t look the slightest bit fazed at needing to take off her bulky sweatshirt and pulling the tank top underneath up to her chest to reveal her ribs. After all, she’d probably spent more than her fair share of time in nothing but a hospital gown.

The pills had said weight gain was a possible symptom, but Erica was painfully thin, like she’d been overcompensating for the meds. Derek had to watch carefully for a moment, analyzing the way she breathed and how her stomach shifted to be sure that he didn’t break anything when he bit.

At the last second, Derek heard the creak of another seat and looked up. Isaac had slid into the chair next to Erica, getting closer than he’d been to Derek since his turn getting bit, and held out his hand the same as Stiles had for him.

Erica stared at it for a second before taking it almost shyly, barely gripping his fingers and looking away with a blush.

Unlike Isaac, Erica screamed and thrashed under Derek’s teeth. He made the bite as quick as possible, trying not to gag at the taste of the medication in Erica’s blood, then jumped away from her to check. He needed to be sure. Isaac hadn’t screamed, what if that meant it wasn’t taking?

As Erica lay across the seats, panting hard and groaning under her breath every few seconds, Derek listened to the pumping of her blood, watched the flow escaping her wound slow down after the two minute mark. “It took.”

He blinked at the flutter of a red cloth in front of his face and grabbed at it reflexively, before realizing it smelled familiar.

“You were supposed to throw this away,” he scolded, even as he used the sleeve of Stiles’ shirt to wipe his mouth off again.

Isaac shrugged. “It smelled weird. So sue me.”

Derek just sighed and got up to go swish the sour tang out of his mouth. By the time he got back, Erica and Isaac were laughing about something together, Erica’s voice soft but clear. It seemed his pack did its best bonding when Derek was out of the room.

To his surprise, Erica practically popped up out of her seat when he arrived at the train door and ran at him. In a moment, one of her arms was wrapped around the back of his neck and he was being dragged into a tight hug.

With blonde hair in his face and a soft voice whispering in his ear, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Derek couldn’t see straight. Ash filled his lungs, choking him with memories of screams and vicious giggles.

He yanked backward, just barely keeping from shoving Erica into a wall, and growled, “Don’t.”

It took five entire seconds of battling through his mantra in his head and picturing the slow formation of a triskele on dust covered floorboards before Derek could look up at his pack. Isaac was wary, his body tense in a way it hadn’t been since leaving the precinct. Erica was simply shocked, her eyes wide and her lip trembling, holding Stiles’ damned shirt against her side in a neat little package.

Shaking his head, Derek muttered, “You’re welcome.” He should apologize, but the words burned his throat without ever reaching the tip of his tongue.

Erica was like a rubber band, snapping back to happy and hopeful in a single second. “Do you think you could do something for me tomorrow?”

Somehow Derek knew before he heard the request, whatever it was, he’d say yes.

* * *

Stiles walked into the cafeteria with his best “smooth criminal” walk, shoulders slouched and his hands shoved in his pockets, ready to haggle for a good deal. His target was waiting at the usual spot, the table where Vernon Boyd normally sat alone at lunch, staring into space.

Sliding into the seat across from him, Stiles nodded at him covertly. “Boyd,” he greeted, not making eye contact. “You got the keys?”

Completely ruining the whole atmosphere, Boyd held out his hand, the keys dangling from his thick fingers in clear view of the entire room. Conspicuous bastard. Stiles reached for them and tugged, only for Boyd to regrip them tightly.

“This isn’t a favor, it’s a transaction.”

“Right, yeah.” Stiles let go of the keys and reached in his pocket. “Absolutely.” He was prepared for this.

He looked around the room for a second to make sure no one was watching them before tugging a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and slapping it down on the table.

Boyd looked unimpressed. “I said, fifty.”

“Really? I—I remember twenty. I don’t know, I have a really good verbal memory, and I remember twenty. I remember that distinctive ‘twa’ sound. Twa—enty.” Stiles grinned at Boyd for nearly a whole second before the glower in front of him wilted his smile.

Boyd glowered harder when Stiles didn’t move. “I said fifty. With the ‘fa’ sound. Hear the difference? If you can’t, I can demonstrate some other words with the ‘fa’ sound.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Stiles rushed. “I think I’m recalling it now.” He laughed weakly and tugged another bill from his other pocket. “Maybe I just got it confused with ‘for’—ty.”

In response, Boyd pulled a chip from his brown bag lunch and crunched the whole thing into his mouth. Eating like that shouldn’t have been intimidating, but here Stiles was, vaguely intimidated.

Stiles sighed. “Come on, man, have you seen the piece of crap Jeep that I drive?”

“Have you seen the piece of crap bus that I ride?” Boyd retorted.

And honestly, fair. Stiles hadn’t had to take buses often as a kid, but he’d hated it every time. They always smelled like dirty plastic and baloney, even though Stiles was pretty sure no one in the world ate sliced baloney anymore.

He dropped the last ten dollar bill on the table and Boyd’s hand shot out, keys dangling again. Stark white teeth stood out against his rich, black skin as he gave Stiles a smug grin. 

“Uh huh, okay, thank you. Nice doing business,” Stiles muttered.

There went Stiles’ gas money for the month and the brake pad replacement he’d been saving for. Scott owed him bigtime.

Two tables down, Scott had likely witnessed the whole thing, but just to be sure, Stiles slapped the keys on the table next to their trays and sad down. “Got ‘em. Pick you up right after work tonight and we’ll meet at the rink, cool?”

Scott wasn’t paying attention, his focus over Stiles’ shoulder next to the entryway. Stiles turned just in time to watch Erica Reyes, the girl he’d been told by Allison had headed straight to the hospital the day before, strut into the room in three inch heels, a miniskirt, and a tight leather jacket.

If Stiles weren’t a DC man through and through, he’d have said his spider senses were tingling. Actually, something in him was definitely tingling, and it wasn’t even in a dirty way. There was a burst of heat in his chest at the looks of awe and gaping arousal aimed Erica’s way, making Stiles have to grip the table to resist going over to make a wall between her and the rest of the students. This time, at least, he knew what was causing it.

While Stiles watched, dumbstruck, as Erica took a seductive, crunchy bite of someone’s apple, hands dropped onto the table near him with a soft _smack_. “What…the _holy hell_ …is that?”

He didn’t even respond to Lydia’s question, trying way too hard to catch Erica’s eye, like the entire rest of the male student population.

“It’s Erica,” Scott muttered.

Then, with one last bite of her forbidden fruit, Erica strolled back out of the room. Barely remembering to grab his hard earned rink keys, Stiles followed after her. Scott was hot on his heels, but Stiles didn’t hesitate to call Erica’s name as he shoved open the front door of the school.

She’d stopped next to the open passenger door of Derek’s Camaro and fixed him with a wicked smirk. Stiles’ jaw dropped and his eyes shot to Derek behind the wheel. He was wearing sunglasses and a matching jacket, and smiling. Smiling _genuinely_.

Stiles smiled back automatically, like it was contagious.

It was only after they’d rolled out of the parking lot that he realized how _pissed_ he was. Derek had bitten someone else, and hadn’t even had the decency to tell Stiles about it. What happened to Stiles being pack?

His own anger was nothing compared to Scott, whose set jaw was only the prelude to a loud _crunch_ as his fist connected with the concrete next to the front door of the building. The dent didn’t look too much like a fist…if you squinted.

“He did it again! I can’t believe him! It’s like he _wants_ to piss the Argents off! He’s going to ruin everything,” Scott fumed.

Stiles reached for his shoulder to hold him back from battering the wall again. “Dude, seriously, calm down. The full moon isn’t for weeks, that’s plenty of time for him to teach Erica how to control herself. I mean…Isaac’s dad was just bad luck.”

He still had no clue what had even happened there, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to be upset the douchebag was dead. He wasn’t sure how much of that was the pack bond, and how much was just being a decent human being, but it didn’t matter. Somehow, it was easier to repress how annoyed he was at Derek while he was trying to make Scott stop beating up inanimate objects, and by the time they were back in the lunchroom he’d mostly cooled off about it.

Still…

_What the hell was that? U cldn’t have given me a heads up abt dealing w/ a new pack bond? Do u have any idea how much this stuff messes w/ my head?_

There was no response, so Stiles tried again.

_Is Erica ok?_

_I mean, how did the bite go?_

_Damn it, Derek._

**Peter Pan: She’s fine. Isaac was with her.**

**__** _Fuck dude, then y wasn’t I?_

Again, no response. Stiles narrowly resisted bashing his own head into the lunch table. It might give Scott ideas.

If there was one thing Stiles could call Vernon Boyd, for all that he’d barely spoken to him in the last ten years of attending the same school, it was reliable. The key he’d given Stiles popped open the lock on the back door of the local skating rink with ease, and the lightswitch was in easy reach.

Allison seemed absolutely gleeful about it, dashing in with her hand on Scott’s wrist and running over to the rental area to grab some skates. Lydia took two steps in, a bulky skate bag on her arm, and actually smiled at Stiles, nodding her approval.

Stiles was a genius.

The chill of the rink, along with the clatter of the rental skates Stiles snagged from behind the counter brought back memories. Stiles didn’t go skating often, but he did it more than any other guys he knew. As a kid, his mom had brought him to playdates at the rink on her days off from teaching art at Beacon Hills Community College, and he’d met his oldest friend right there on the ice. Sure, Scott was his brother, but he’d been playing with Heather since he knew how to walk.

The click of the straps on his skates was reassuringly grounding. Beside him, sat the girl of his dreams, lacing up her own personal skates. If Stiles were any kind of smooth, this was the moment he would make his move and start down the road to a perfect romance with his true love.

Taking the first step, he let himself shiver slightly in the chill. “It’s, uh, kinda cold here, huh?” He had an extra shirt in his backpack that he could offer her.

“Not once you get moving,” Lydia reassured him.

He knew that, but he tried again anyway. “You sure that jacket is warm enough? Cus’ I have—”

Lydia cut him off. “Actually, you just reminded me.” She unzipped her big bag again and dug around in it, before pulling out two neatly rolled items of clothing. One was Stiles’ plaid shirt, the other his hoodie. The ones he gave her on Route 5. “Here. They’re freshly washed.”

“Uh, thanks.” What sort of pickup line could be relevant to getting your clothes back?

“Stiles, I’m only going to say this once, so I need you to listen to me.” Lydia glanced over Stiles’ shoulder at Scott and Allison. They were off in their own world, giggling at the edge of the rink while Scott tried to stand up straight on the ice. “It’s not going to happen. You’d think after over five years of ignoring your stalking, you might get the point. But clearly you haven’t, and after spending time with you where you aren’t ogling me or shoving your feet in your mouth, I’ve found that I actually enjoy being your friend, so I’m making this _crystal_ clear. It’s not going to happen. Ever. I know it. I think deep down, you know it too. Everyone knows it, and you need to start accepting it. Which means you need to stop. Stop with the gifts and showing up at my house and telling my mom we’re friends so she’ll let you in. Stop hitting on me. Stop.”

At least Stiles could be about fifty percent sure Scott wasn’t listening in. He managed to close his mouth after a few seconds, but couldn’t quite lift his eyes from where they’d dropped to the seat a step below him.

It was supposed to hurt, right? He was getting his heart stomped on, and it was supposed to hurt. Maybe it did, a small ache in his chest. But nothing more than that. The strongest emotion he was feeling at the moment was guilt. “I, uh…” His voice felt rusty, so he coughed. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m honestly sorry. I—” He clasped his hands together and rubbed them, suddenly _actually_ cold. Would she even want to hear it? “I kind of…I hyperfixate. And I saw you as a kid, and you were _amazing_ and I got stuck, and then it didn’t go away. It’s not an excuse, I’m not—I’m not trying to say it’s—I really am sorry—just, if you wanted a reason. It’s not, you didn’t—”

He took a deep breath in. “I should’ve stopped. I can’t explain why I didn’t, but, I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Lydia said, matter-of-factly. “I’m not stupid, Stiles. I know a lie when I hear one. So, you’re going to stop?”

“Yes,” Stiles gushed, finally looking up. “Yes, I swear. Everything. I’ll stop everything.”

Lydia grinned and stood, slapping her legs on the way up. “Good, now let’s go.”

She held her hand in front of him and crooked her fingers demandingly. Glacially slow, Stiles reached up to take it and let her pull him to his feet and then down the steps toward the ice. “Uh, mixed signals much?”

“Of course not,” she said. “You’re smart enough to know the difference between me being friendly and me flirting with you. Especially since one of those is completely off the table.”

She left him staring again as she dashed out onto the ice with ease, doing a few quick circles and then a spin that made Stiles dizzy to look at. As she slid back over to him, he could see her shoulders droop into a relaxed stance that he understood only too well. Grabbing at his hand again, she dragged him out with her and he picked up speed to match her easily, snorting at her surprised smile.

After a few circuits, Stiles broke off to led Lydia twirl to her heart’s desire and went to the other half of the rink to practice one of the few moves he had. He didn’t skate often enough to ever get any better, but he could do this at least. Checking to be sure he had the room he needed, Stiles began to skate forward, picking up speed until he had his momentum right. Then, he lifted one leg in a right angle as he turned his body, until he was skating backwards. His jeans were loose enough to let him get the form right and keep his balance, but he swapped back to skating forward in time to turn into a careful spin, a little more clumsily than Lydia. If nothing else, he wasn’t falling on his ass like Scott. Though he and Allison had disappeared, so apparently it worked for him.

“Excuse me?” Lydia called from behind him.

Stiles turned to look at her, but Lydia wasn’t facing him. She was watching an empty patch of ice, slowing down to a stop in front of what looked to be…nothing.

Taking short sweeps toward her, Stiles squinted at the white ice surrounding her where she’d kneeled. “Lydia? What’d you find?”

She was wiping at the ice now, using her bare hands to push little shavings to the side. Then she started screaming, agony and horror all mixed up into one, in one of those shrieks that Stiles was sure he’d be getting a call about.

Coming to a swishing stop beside her, Stiles dropped to his knees and wrapped his hands around her wrists, trying to pull her away from her hunched over position. “Lydia? Lydia!”

She didn’t respond, just kept screaming. A moment later, Allison and Scott rushed out to the opening nearest them and Stiles stared up at Scott. Lydia was full on hallucinating and the chances of it having nothing to do with getting attacked by Peter were astronomical. This wasn’t three days of queasiness.

Saying her name didn’t help, and Stiles couldn’t get her to stop staring down at the cloudy ice. Finally, he shuffled over to kneel in front of her instead and yanked her away, forcing her to look at him. “Lydia! There’s nothing there!”

The moment her eye contact with the rink broke, Lydia quieted, blinking at Stiles and then looking around her. “What? What’re you doing?” She tugged her wrists away from him, falling backwards to sit on the ice.

Luckily, Allison came up, shuffling forward in her sneakers. “Lydia? Lydia, what did you just see?”

Lydia rubbed her wrists almost unconsciously. “I—I saw…nothing. She was nothing.”

“She?” Stiles jumped in. “She who? You can tell us, Lydia, come on.”

In a soft voice, Lydia whispered. “A girl, pretty. With dark hair. On the ice. She was skating. And then, she—she was dead.”

An unsettling weight dropped into Stiles’ stomach, but he waited until Allison had helped Lydia to stand and guided her over to the benches to take off her skates before he asked, “Lydia. How was she dead?”

“She was covered in big scratches, and bite marks. Like mine.”

After a quick rendezvous, Allison took Lydia home to tuck her into bed and tell her it was all just a nightmare because she fell and hit her head on the ice.

It was the best any of them could think of to do while they tried to figure out what was going on. Stiles knew what he _thought_ had happened, but it didn’t make enough sense. If Lydia had gotten memories from Peter, it explained smelling ash and hearing screaming voices. But that was over a week ago. Now she was seeing Laura Hale—and it had to be her—first alive and ice skating, then dead before she’d even been cut in half?

While driving Scott home, Stiles kept his mouth firmly shut. He wasn’t in the mood to argue with Scott about what he wanted to do, so it was easier to just not mention it. As soon as Scott was out of earshot, Stiles picked up his phone. He hadn’t gotten the expected call about Lydia’s scream, so instead, he called first.

No answer. No answer again. This time it didn’t even ring, just went straight to voicemail. He tried the other number he’d added to his phone just that afternoon. No answer. And again, straight to voicemail.

This wasn’t just being away from the phone, this was Stiles being ignored, and he wasn’t having it.

The depot was far less intimidating when Stiles was on a mission, and he jimmied the lock on the front door in ten seconds flat before storming in.

“Listen, Derek, I know you don’t want to talk about Lydia, but—”

A small hand with very sharp fingers wrapped around Stiles’ throat and he was shoved backward into the concrete wall on the middle landing. Along with what he could now identify as claws, came glowing golden eyes and thick fangs bared in a snarl from Erica Reyes’ face.

“Stiles!” Isaac called, and soon he appeared in Stiles’ periphery, not even bothering to move Erica away. Rather, he leaned in himself, sniffing loudly. “You smell weird.”

In a second, Isaac had scooted up to Stiles’ side and had one hand on his shoulder, with the other running across his chest. Then, Erica’s hand released his neck, only to push his face to the side while she leaned in for…it wasn’t a hug. It was some sort of hybrid hug and sniff session where Stiles couldn’t figure out whose hands were whose and was just grateful that all wandering appendages stayed clawless and far above his waistline.

A full minute in, Stiles managed to get out, “Um.”

“Get off him,” came a nearly comforting bark.

Stiles let out a whoosh of air as Erica and Isaac retreated from him, neither looking remotely guilty for invading his personal space. In an effort to cover up his confusion, he squinted at Isaac. “Pretty cuddly for a guy that wouldn’t answer my calls.”

That, actually made Isaac look down for a second, then over at Derek.

Stiles looked over at Derek too, only to freeze.

He wasn’t alone. Sitting on a wooden crate was Vernon Boyd. Totally _human,_ as far as Stiles knew, Boyd.

“Am…am I interrupting something?” Stiles asked, viciously hating that his voice came out as weak as he felt.

Again, Isaac was the only one to show even a hint of shame. Erica looked human again and absolutely baffled, and Derek was just _staring_ at him. Boyd slowly raised a hand in a wave.

He’d walked in on a recruitment. Was that why Derek had ignored his calls? Turned his phone off? He was talking to Boyd, giving him the details on a life mod called lycanthropy and hiding it from Stiles. Again. What if they’d already finished that part, and were heading straight into biting? What if that was done too? Was Boyd a werewolf now? Another precious Beta to make Derek stronger, and Stiles didn’t get to know, let alone _be_ there.

He was supposed to be pack. That’s what Derek had said. Stiles had offered to be there, to help out. And in return, he was pack. That wasn’t asking for much, was it? Just that Derek help him with Lydia for god’s sake, keep anyone else from dying because Peter took a strange interest in Stiles.

Erica’s eyes had begun to glow again, but Stiles was, for once, completely uninterested in seeing a werewolf shift up close. “I’m just—I’ll deal with it myself. Nevermind.”

Maybe he would, maybe he’d end up calling Derek again in a couple hours because Lydia might be in danger and that was too important for him not to get someone’s help, but right now, Stiles just needed out. He bolted up the stairs and out into the parking lot, heaving big breaths that had nothing to do with the steepness of the steps.

The slam of the front door startled him into dropping his keys next to the door of his Jeep.

“What are you doing here?” Derek demanded. His face was pinched tight, brows furrowed.

Stiles shrank back against his Jeep. “Nothing. I—nothing.”

Derek squinted, then shifted his eyes red. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Did you bite him already?” Stiles threw back. He didn’t feel as lightheaded if he held onto how angry he was. This wasn’t fair. Derek had _said._ Stiles had given him an out, _told_ him that he was fine being temporary. It was Derek who said he was pack, like that was supposed to mean he belonged there. That he wouldn’t be left out. Stiles’d had enough rejection for one night, thanks.

But Derek didn’t say anything, just glared, standing a few feet from the Jeep with his shoulders so tense Stiles would’ve wondered on another day if werewolves had hackles to raise.

“What?” Stiles bit out. “I have to answer your questions, but you don’t have to answer mine? Is that it? Is he a werewolf or not, Derek?”

“If I tell you, are you going to expose him to Scott, like you did Isaac?”

Stiles nearly fell over, he jerked so hard. “Excuse me? Are you fucking joking right now?” With shaking hands, he dug in his back pocket for fifty-dollar keys and chucked them at Derek’s chest. Unsurprisingly, Derek caught them. “Be sure to thank Boyd for me,” he spit.

Swooping down to grab his own keyset, Stiles slammed into his Jeep and left the depot fuming for the second time.

—

Something about heading to lunch always seemed to rile up the student body into a frenzy of slamming locker doors. Stiles was slamming his locker too, but for far more petty reasons.

He’d never really stopped being angry after leaving the depot the night before, but it’d settled down to a quiet simmer inside him, coming out in short bursts, like when he shoved the door of his locker shut with a _bang_.

Hiding behind his door was Erica, her head leaned against the neighboring locker, positively gleeful. “He doesn’t know.”

“Excuse me?”

He wasn’t sure he’d be getting over Erica’s makeover any time soon. Her hair had been frizzy and trapped in messy braids, messy buns, and messy ponytails for so long he’d thought that was just how it naturally was. But now, her hair looked soft, in bright, glossy curls that she apparently no longer felt the need to pull back from her face.

Everything from her clothing, which was suddenly the complete opposite of her usual sweatpants or baggy jeans and hoodie, to her actual body shape had changed. Before, she’d been thin and fragile, the kind of person Stiles would worry about breaking something just from tripping in the hall, which, admittedly, she’d done a lot. But suddenly, she’d filled out, her arms no longer painfully bony, and the expanses of light skin on display were practically glowing with health.

Even her brown eyes were brighter when they narrowed mischievously at him. “Scott. He doesn’t know. I mean, obviously I don’t blame you for keeping it from him. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t dare say anything, but Erica zeroed in on his chest. Despite himself, Stiles crossed his arms over his pecs. “Stop that.”

But Erica just opened her mouth a little in awe. “I _heard_ that, Stiles. I can hear your heart speeding up. Did that make you nervous? Is it because of Scott? Because he doesn’t know you’re in our pack?”

Shushing wildly, he pushed a hand over Erica’s mouth and swung her around until she was against the lockers and couldn’t back away. “Quiet!”

Erica licked his palm, and Stiles yanked his hand away, grimacing. “Oh calm down, he’s out of range. The cafeteria is too loud to hear anything out here.”

“How did you—

“Oh, you should have heard him. Asking me who the _third_ member of the pack was going to be, not realizing we’ve already got _you_. I take it that means you didn’t tell him about Boyd?”

Stiles shook his head, backing up. He didn’t—he didn’t really have a reason for not mentioning it. Mostly, he’d just been too busy being pissed off to really consider it.

His answer made Erica smirk. “Well, like I said. I get why you didn’t tell him, so I didn’t say anything either. As for Boyd, well, it’s not going to make much difference either way. You’re not the only one who can leave campus. By tonight, he’ll be one of us.”

Examining her nails, she added softly, “It’s not your fault Derek doesn’t want you there when we get bitten, Stiles. _You’re_ not the one he wants to hide it from. Actually, speaking of, why don’t you go earn some points for Gryffindor? Go ahead, tell Scott all about Derek whisking away another kid to eat lunch. Watch how little he cares about _why_ we want to be with Derek.”

She skipped away down the hall, leaving Stiles to shove his backpack up his shoulder and finally head to the cafeteria.

He nearly ran into Allison on his way to Scott, her face pinched and sour. She didn’t attempt to talk to him either, just pushed away and crossed toward Lydia’s table on the other side of the room. Part of Stiles wanted to follow her, or at least ask Scott what’d happened, but he was on a different mission.

Scott at least had the right to know when more werewolves were running around town. Better he know now than chase Boyd down the next time he got a whiff of him, like he’d done Isaac. Besides, what Erica had said pricked at Stiles. If anyone had good reasons to take the bite, it was Erica and Isaac. Scott understood that, right?

It was freeing to be able to lean over Scott’s shoulder and point toward the vacant blue seat across from him without any guilt. He not only had permission to tell Scott, he’d been encouraged. “Scott, do you see that?”

“What? It’s an empty table.”

“Yeah, but whose empty table?” Boyd had been sitting at that table for the last two years, always munching on his little homemade sub sandwiches and chips. On Mondays he drank a small bottle of chocolate milk. The routine was soothing to Stiles, even though he never actually joined the upperclassman. He could always be sure it was Monday if Boyd was drinking two percent chocolate milk.

It took Scott a moment, but soon he stilled his fidgeting and stared much harder at the spot. “Boyd.”

Then, nothing. No growling, no glowing eyes. Scott lowered his gaze to his own lunch bag and picked up his sandwich, taking a small, thoughtful bite. “Derek wants Boyd for his third Beta.”

“Looks like it. I think he and Erica know each other.” Stiles wasn’t sure exactly what was running through Scott’s head, so he inched down into the chair next to him, ready to get up again if Scott decided they needed to go somewhere.

When Scott just kept eating his sandwich, Stiles pulled his own lunch out of his backpack, opening the ziploc bag he’d stashed there with pizza from dinner the night before. They were leftovers from his small peace offering to his dad for being out late again, with chicken and spinach. He chewed the lukewarm pizza slowly, watching Scott.

Eventually, Scott took a sharp bite of his apple. “How’d you know Boyd was gone?”

“Erica told me. She found me in the hall, gloated a little.”

“Okay.”

Stiles paused. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not gonna punch the wall again? Maybe snap another tray in half?”

Scott actually smiled and shook his head. “No, man, I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good, that’s awesome, man.”

And he was. Scott was the absolute definition of fine all through lunch. Afterwards, as he led the way out into the hall, he said almost cheerfully, “I have work after school, so when I get out of there I’m gonna go to the ice rink, see if he’s there. You go to his house, and if he’s not at home, you call me.” Then, in a voice that brooked no argument, “Got it?”

Of course, Stiles had to argue anyway. “Wait, I thought you weren’t upset?”

Scott was suddenly deadly serious. “I’m not, because I’m going to stop him.”

“Who?”

“Derek.”

“But it’s Boyd that’s asking for the bite.”

“No, it’s Derek giving him the bite.”

Stiles stopped at the top of the small set of steps in front of them and shuffled over to the wall so they were out of the way of the other students. They didn’t need another Jackson situation.

Unlike Boyd and Erica and Isaac, Jackson hadn’t just wanted the bite, he’d blackmailed them over it. He’d put everyone in danger just to get his gift. Their only blessing was that he hadn’t gotten it and had dropped the subject after Peter died. At least Isaac knew what he was getting himself into when he asked for it. He understood what it meant. Stiles just had to hope Erica and Boyd did too, since he wasn’t able to ask them beforehand.

“Maybe we should just let him. You said Derek told you at Isaac’s that he’s giving them a choice. It’s informed consent.”

At that, Scott scowled. “They’re just teenagers, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, well, if sixteen and seventeen are old enough to sign up for the military or get emancipated, I think it’s old enough to decide if you want to be a werewolf. Plus, it’s like we said before, teenagers probably take to the bite better.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Scott scolded, barely managing to lower his voice.

“What do you mean? Of course it does! What if waiting put their lives in danger? Isaac’s dad was beating on him!”

“Being a _werewolf_ is putting their lives in danger, Stiles. They shouldn’t have done it at _all,_ no matter what the circumstances.”

“What about Erica?”

Scott huffed and shoved one hand in his pocket. “What about her?”

Trying not to scoff, Stiles readjusted his backpack. “Do you remember how sick she used to be? Now she’s running around, and she looks really good. The word ‘sensational’ comes to mind. Derek healed her.”

Their argument was chasing the time away and around them the crowds of kids leaving the cafeteria had thinned to almost nothing. If they didn’t go soon, they’d be late to Chemistry and Stiles would be stuck with another detention. But this wasn’t something he was willing to drop yet.

“No, Derek cursed her, just like he did Isaac, and I’m not letting him do it to Boyd. They’re my responsibility,” Scott said.

The answer was so far out of left field, Stiles spluttered for a second. “What? Why?”

Out came Scott’s other hand so he could gesture sharply at Stiles’ chest. “Because you know things are going to get out of hand, and that makes it my job to deal with it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Scott! I mean, where was all this responsibility and saving people stuff when Peter was killing people? When I couldn’t get you on the phone?” Stiles fought the urge to shove Scott away from him. It was a cheap shot, but after months of refusing to get involved, why was Scott picking now to do anything?

Stiles might as well have shoved Scott, for all that his chest inflated like a balloon. They were alone in the hall now, but Stiles almost wished they weren’t when Scott’s pointing finger actually pressed into his shirt. “I’m just trying to make sure Derek doesn’t lie to anyone else like he lied to me! He told me I could be cured and then he took the Alpha power for himself!”

Closer, Scott was leaning closer, and Stiles could see his ears becoming pointier, but he couldn’t bring himself to shut up. “That was a one in a million chance that it could cure you. What would you have done if it made you an Alpha instead?”

“I’d be a better one than Derek, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t be attacking people!”

Now Scott’s whole left hand was on Stiles’ chest, claws fully exposed, while his right curled around and dug into Stiles’ shoulder. This was far, far worse than that first time Scott’d threatened to hit him in his room. Stiles couldn’t stop his heart from ratcheting up or his breathing from going ragged. All he could do was try to keep his eyes on Scott’s face instead of the floor. It didn’t work.

As his eyes dragged downward, Stiles caught one last glimpse of Scott’s expression, furious and frustrated. Like he couldn’t smell or hear how goddamn terrified Stiles was. He couldn’t move, didn’t dare make a run for it.

Stiles didn’t speak, and just like before, it took a while for Scott to even remotely back away. He didn’t go far. “Just go see if he’s at home, Stiles.”

He nodded, still watching the abstract paint fleck pattern in the tiles at their feet.

There was a twinge of pain as the very tips of Scott’s claws retracted from Stiles’ shoulder, then, “Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

Detention was a tense affair, but at least Harris seemed bored enough to let Stiles out after an hour and a half. It wasn’t like Stiles was in the mood to be that special brand of snarky that he usually saved for Harris.

A quick check in a phonebook told him there was only one Boyd family living in Beacon Hills, so Stiles headed toward the elementary school on the opposite end of town. Just behind the soccer field was the house he was looking for: a quaint two-story, with little hints at the poverty of the neighbourhood. Bars attached to the windows, decorative yes, but also sturdy, a couple dead plants in pots on the cement porch, and a small pile of brightly colored but degraded children’s toys at the side of the building.

Stiles rapped on the screen door, calling out, “Hey, Boyd? It’s Stiles.”

When no one answered, he turned to see if there was a back door he could knock on instead, but found his way blocked yet again, by Erica. “Oh—wow.”

She seemed to get a kick out of scaring him, giggling and crossing her arms. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for you.”

“Well, I’m looking for Boyd. Wait, why are you looking for me?” Stiles tried not to sound apprehensive. The likelihood that Derek actually sent his Beta to get Stiles so he could be there for Boyd’s bite was…nonexistent.

Sure enough, Erica’s face fell like she knew exactly what he was thinking. “I’m sorry, Stiles, but Derek really doesn’t want you to get involved with this.”

That _stung_ , so Stiles snapped back, “Yeah, well Derek can fucking bite me.”

When Erica’s eyes widened, Stiles scoffed, “Not like that. Not all of us want the stupid bite.”

For some reason, it was the last bit that actually made Erica angry. She shoved forward, pushing him back against Boyd’s front door. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. The bite is a _gift_.”

“Yeah, that’s what Derek told Scott, but what kind of gift puts you on a hitlist?” Scott had been right, about that, at least. The hunters were sure to be pissed about Derek growing his pack, and Erica, Isaac, and Boyd weren’t exactly dating Allison, so there was no reason for Chris to spare them.

Erica growled and the tips of her ears rose in small points through her hair. “At least it gave me a chance!”

That wasn’t what Stiles had been expecting to hear. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know _why_ I had seizures, Stiles?” Erica asked, voice suddenly soft.

“You’re epileptic.”

“No, that’s just what the office told my teachers. See, there’s this little lump of cells in my head that decided to grow wrong.”

“A tumor?” Stiles whispered.

“Yeah. It’s not cancerous, not very big, not growing very fast. Just enough that I was going to have to have _brain surgery_ to remove it. But not anymore. Derek didn’t just make my life better in every possible way. He also saved it. Just like he saved Isaac’s.” Erica leaned in a little closer, until she was nose to nose with Stiles, bright gold eyes glaring into his. “So don’t you _dare_ tell me this wasn’t a gift.”

Stiles’ chest hurt, and not from being shoved around so much today. “Erica, I’m sorry. If we, I mean, you, told Scott, I’m sure he’d understand. He just—he didn’t get to pick being a werewolf and now it’s freaking him out, you and the others getting the bite. If you just explained—”

“And why is it any of his business?” Erica spat, backing up and crossing her arms again. “I shouldn’t have to go around telling people like him about something most of my relatives don’t even know, just to make him back off.”

“Fine! Okay? You’re right, don’t tell him. But I’m leaving, and I’m going to make you guys stop fighting, damn it. This isn’t helping _anything_!” Stiles slid to the side and out of the corner Erica had trapped him in.

Her hand curled around his bicep. “Stiles, wait! You can’t, Derek said to keep you away!”

Yanking didn’t remove his arm from her grip, but Stiles did it anyway. “Screw Derek. He also said I was pack, and wasn’t that a load of bullshit?”

“Stiles, no!”

Suddenly, Stiles’ feet weren’t on the ground anymore, and he was moving backwards. Something extremely hard smacked into the side of Stiles’ head, just behind his ear, and then everything went black.

* * *

Erica was late. Her job was to warn Stiles off, send him in the opposite direction if she had to, and then get back to the ice rink to join the rest of the pack.

Derek had a pack. A full pack, with three Betas. He was still reeling from it slightly as he stood at the side door to the rink with Isaac, listening to Boyd’s zamboni. Even if they hadn’t been expecting a visit from Scott McCall, he probably would have been there. Boyd was solemn and serious about getting the bite, but he was equally serious about going to work right afterward, hiding his wound under a heavy hoodie. The trouble with biting teenagers.

When Erica did show up, she was trembling. Derek’s hand twitched to reach out to her, but he held it back and let Isaac do the comforting. “What happened?”

“N—nothing,” Erica winced.

Derek didn’t even have to flash his eyes before she amended, “I told Stiles to stay out of it. He wasn’t happy.”

That made sense. Stiles could be positively scathing when he wanted to be. But at least he’d listened. He’d been so insistent on playing both sides, refusing to see that Scott wasn’t just an annoyance, he was a danger to others without a pack. Including Stiles. It was better just to keep him out of it.

Derek’s nodding turned to a frown at Erica’s shirt. “Where is your jacket?”

Erica snorted. “It didn’t go with the outfit.”

“It’s not a fashion statement, Erica. It’s protection. This?” He plucked at the barely there sleeve of her overshirt. “This would shred like tissue paper.”

At least she smelled remorseful. Derek grimaced and pointed at Isaac. “You, watch her back.”

“With pleasure,” Isaac leered. It cracked into a grin when Erica just laughed at him.

Fighting off a migraine and a smile at the same time, Derek risked a hand on Isaac’s shoulder to push him toward the door, now that they were all here. “Go.”

Inside, Scott was standing in front of Boyd, spluttering. “If you—if you’re looking for friends, you can do a _lot_ better than Derek.”

Derek put a hand to his heart as he walked with his Betas over the ice. “That really hurt, Scott.” At his side, Erica put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, just barely disguising her near slip. Apparently real shoes didn’t go with her outfit either. Once they’d settled, Derek tucked his hands behind his back. “I mean, if you’re going to review me, at least take a,” he waved one hand toward Isaac and Erica, “consensus.” Not looking back, he added, “Erica, how’s life been for you since we met?”

“Hm…in a word? Transformative.” Erica let out a little roar, a favorite trick of hers. The eyes were proving to be a problem, but she had a lot of vocal control.

“Isaac?”

“Well, I’m a little bummed about being a fugitive, but other than that, I’m great.” Every day Isaac got a little more sarcastic, a little wilder. If it kept up, maybe one day Derek would see Isaac laugh in front of him, instead of when he wasn’t looking.

It was satisfying to see Boyd begin to smile from his seat atop the zamboni, to feel the bond strengthen that much more. From paper thin to cardboard. Derek let his eyes flicker red and fought back his own smirk. This was what being an Alpha was supposed to feel like.

Completely misinterpreting what he was seeing, Scott frowned at them. “Okay, hold on, this isn’t exactly a fair fight.”

“We’re not looking for a fight, Scott. Just go home, and leave my Betas alone.”

It didn’t have to be this hard, if Scott would just back off. But as he shifted up and slammed his hand down into the ice of the rink to create a massive dent, Derek’s hackles rose. Boyd would be blamed for that.

“I meant fair for them,” Scott snarled.

Derek didn’t even have time to laugh at the ludicrousy of the statement before Scott was roaring and Isaac and Erica were charging past Derek toward him.

A good chunk of Derek’s head said that he should let it play out. He’d grown up wrestling and play-fighting with siblings regularly. It was good training. But Erica didn’t know even the basics of how to defend herself, and Isaac was still too jumpy to be trained.

He was already reaching out, ready to call them back, but Erica made contact. She shoved hard at Scott’s shoulders, growling and trying to drag him to the side to put him on his back. In a painfully familiar kick, Scott had knocked her knees to the side and shoved her right back, landing her on her ass. Then Isaac had his go, lifting Scott right off his feet and tossing him to the side, only to have one of his sleeves slashed to pieces when Scott’s claws raked across his arm.

Scott was weaker by default, being an Omega, but he was using the techniques _Derek_ had taught him in that brief period when they were supposed to be working together to stop Peter. Techniques that were supposed to be used if Scott was fighting something he planned to kill. Now he was using them against two untrained Betas?

With Erica on her feet again, Derek stepped forward and grabbed at the back of her shirt, yanking her backward just in time to keep Scott from clawing all the way through her chest. As it was, her shirt was instantly destroyed and her skin split in thin lines.

Derek pushed Erica toward Isaac and stepped between the three of them. He shifted up with a snarl and threw Scott back into the side of the zamboni. Roaring, he slashed lightly into Scott’s stomach going deep enough to hurt but not enough to be life-threatening, then punched him in the solar plexus and let him drop to the ground. Unable to resist, he planted the arch of one boot against Scott’s throat and glared down at him on the ice.

“You touch them again, and I’ll kill you.”

Derek blinked hard until the clink of boots hitting the ice made him turn around. Boyd had climbed off his machine. “Are you ready to leave?” Derek asked, voice still too much of a snarl. He choked back the shift, reciting his Betas’ names in his head until his vision turned technicolor again.

Boyd nodded slowly, “Yeah. I’m gonna call in sick or something.”

Even though Derek went to nod at Isaac, who’d stood up and was glaring down at his shredded jacket, to lead Boyd out, it was Boyd who put a hand on Isaac and Erica’s shoulders and walked away with them. Derek didn’t look back at Scott as he followed them, but he listened carefully until he was out of range to make sure Scott didn’t get back up.

Back at the depot, Erica slipped off to Isaac’s room and came back wearing one of his shirts and her leather jacket. She mourned over her torn shirt so pitifully, Derek chucked a crumpled twenty dollar bill at her head on his way to check on Boyd. Behind him he could hear the whine change from sad to excited in an instant. At least some people were easy to please.

Boyd was sitting on a crate, wincing every few seconds, one hand shoved up under his hoodie to rest on the bite. Sighing, Derek lifted his head to bark, “Isaac.”

“Yeah?” Isaac called, his hands already busy on Stiles’ Nintendo DS. He was shockingly well adjusted to violence, but it came in handy sometimes.

“Where is it?”

Isaac didn’t look up. “Where’s what?”

“You know what. I know you still have it.”

With a sigh that sounded far too much like Derek’s own, Isaac shuffled off to his room before returning and dropping a red plaid shirt into Derek’s hands.

“I washed it first, okay? Fight me about it.”

Derek wadded the fabric up and handed it off to Boyd, who just looked at it until Derek gestured again. “Here, for the bleeding.” To Isaac’s back, he added, “There are literally dozens of these things in his room.”

“Dozens of what things in whose room?” Boyd asked, warily pressing the cloth to his side.

Isaac spun around. “Nothing. It’s whatever.”

A quiet growl was enough to make Isaac duck his head and go back to his game, though he punched the buttons a little too sharply to be really calm.

Boyd still looked completely confused, but Derek wasn’t in the mood to explain it to him. Isaac wasn’t very tactile, but he had a strong sense of smell, and something about Stiles’ scent was apparently comforting enough that he kept the old shirt around even after two washes. At this point Isaac had to be imagining the scent on it, but Derek wasn’t going to deprive him of it. He was clearly attached to Stiles, or at least the way he smelled.

Apparently just thinking about the missing person was enough to summon him, fury rolling off him in thick layers as he shoved open the door.

“You fucking—” Derek sighed again. He hadn’t expected Stiles to be happy about how he dealt with Scott, but he was still too riled up to deal with this. “—bitch!”

What?

Stiles came crashing down the stairs with absolutely no coordination, eyes swinging past Derek and landing on a much smaller subject. “What the hell is wrong with you? No, wait, I know what’s wrong with you and it’s still no excuse! You think just because you’re a werewolf now you get to beat the shit out of people?”

Derek gaped at Erica as her eyes filled with tears, and watched her run full force into Stiles. Not attacking him, but hugging him.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Stiles, it was an accident!” She clung to his chest while his arms windmilled around her, and Derek nearly went to pull her off in case she was suffocating him. But no, his face was red from anger as he shoved at her ineffectively.

“You shoved me in the back of my own fucking Jeep after knocking me out and ran off! How is that an accident?” He spluttered.

That got Derek’s attention properly. “You _what?_ ”

Finally, Erica let go of Stiles enough to turn to Derek, her eyes streaming. “I didn’t mean to! I just grabbed his arm and he went flying and hit his head, and then—then he started waking up right away and I just, I was supposed to meet you and I ran.”

A whiplash of scent made Derek blink, and then Erica’s face was gone. Stiles had pulled her back into arms that’d just been pushing her away. Gone was the anger and hurt, overwhelmed by worry and something soft. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m fine. Nothing but a goose egg. It was an accident, like you said. I’m sorry I yelled. Shit, Erica, stop crying, I’m fine.”

Erica melted into the hug, her hand ruffling up the back of Stiles’ hair in search of the place he’d hit until he winced over her shoulder, then cupping the spot to keep it from getting bumped again. In seconds, Isaac had joined them, standing behind Stiles and not cuddling up to him, but resting his own hand over Erica’s.

It was the quickest fight and apology Derek had seen since Cora broke one of Laura’s china dolls in the third grade. She’d bawled from the moment it hit the ground and Laura had been so busy calming her down it was like she forgot to be angry.

Then, Stiles’ eyes met his over Erica’s shoulders and they were absolute daggers. Derek could hear Stiles’ fingers clench in Erica’s jacket as he hugged her closer.

“You.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you! Just throwing them out there to fight Scott like that? Are you naturally cruel, or was it a life lesson?”

Derek barely managed not to step back, but his arms came up to cross defensively over his chest. “Scott could’ve chosen not to fight them.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but now it was out and Stiles was fuming again. Like flicking a switch, he rolled Erica to the side, until she was huddled at one shoulder, with Isaac at the other. “That’s not the point! They aren’t your damn guard dogs!”

“I wasn’t the one who tried to rip Erica’s throat out! He attacked with moves that were meant to kill!”

“But Scott’s the one with the gaping slashes in his stomach, how does that make sense?” Stiles shouted.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Where did Stiles get the right to come in and shout at Derek’s Beta, and then at Derek himself? Why was it that Isaac was still holding onto Stiles’ arm, when Derek couldn’t so much as show fang without him retreating to his room? These were _his_ Betas, and he was getting yelled at by a _human_ for protecting them?

“If you have a problem with the way I run things here, then get out.”

Stiles froze, along with everyone else in the room.

“What?” Derek continued, letting his eyes shift up, taking more comfort from the reds and greens than watching how pale Erica and Isaac had gotten. “You want to stay? Then you shut up and listen. I am the Alpha, I am in charge. You are a human, you keep quiet. And you stay the hell away from Scott McCall. This is your choice, Stiles. Scott or us.”

Why couldn’t this stupid kid see that Scott couldn’t be trusted? He’d twisted everything at the rink around to make Derek look like the bad guy, and Stiles, who kept insisting that he could be objective—that he could be both Derek’s pack and Scott’s friend—he went for Derek’s throat at the first mention from Scott. It wouldn’t stand. If Derek put up with it, he’d lose everything else. What kind of Betas respected an Alpha who let humans boss them around? His mother would never have stood for it. Laura wouldn’t have. Even Peter wouldn’t have. Why should Derek?

The shaking of Stiles’ hand meant nothing as he raised it to point at Derek accusingly. “You told me…you _promised_ I wouldn’t have to choose. Don’t make me choose. I’m supposed to be on both your sides. Hell, there aren’t supposed to _be_ sides! You aren’t supposed to be fighting him! He’s not a hunter!”

“He’s as good as.”

“Take that back!” Stiles shouted, finally pushing away from the little wall of Betas he’d created. “Scott is nothing like them!”

To Derek’s surprise, it was Isaac who came to Derek’s defense. “Stiles, you didn’t hear him. What he said to Erica—”

“ _Scott,_ did not slice an omega werewolf in half for crossing the territory to join your pack. _Scott_ , didn’t chain you up underneath your own house. _Scott,_ didn’t burn the house down around eleven Hale pack members! Stop _blaming_ him for what the hunters did!” Stiles roared, ignoring Isaac completely.

Holding back his shift was impossible at this point, so Derek let it happen. Let his ears grow to points and his teeth sharpen slightly. “No, he’s just the one that planned to leave me in those chains unless I saved his stupid hunter girlfriend. He’s the one who refused to help me stop a serial killer unless I promised that killing Peter would make him human again. He’s the one who dragged my only pack member around in the woods with him _knowing_ the hunters were looking for a werewolf and that you wouldn’t heal from bolt through your body. He’s the one who told me my entire family must’ve deserved to die, and he’s the one who tried to kill my Betas tonight!”

The scent Derek was looking for was regret, not guilt.

Erica spoke up, reaching for Stiles’ hand, only for him to jerk it away. “Derek, Scott doesn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“That Stiles is—”

“Erica!” Stiles snapped.

Derek snarled, even though it didn’t seem to have any effect on Stiles. “Let her talk.”

“He doesn’t know—”

“Damn it, Erica!” Stiles cried, storming to the side. “Scott doesn’t know I’m in your pack. I never told him, alright?”

Derek’s shift melted down and his jaw tightened so far he felt teeth crack. “You couldn’t stand to lie to Scott about Isaac or Boyd, but you could do it to save your own hide?”

How was it that when Derek was in his Beta shift, Stiles didn’t look the slightest bit bothered, but now, he flinched away?

“I didn’t—I was trying to _help_. I was trying to get Scott to—fuck, I don’t know. I didn’t do it for _me_.”

“You already made your choice, Stiles. Get out.”

“Uh, Derek?” Boyd, who Derek’d nearly forgotten, was standing up. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but—”

“I've made up my mind,” Derek snapped. “Stiles, get out. I’d better not see your face anywhere near here again.”

The door might not have slammed this time, Derek wasn’t sure. He couldn’t really hear anything over how loud and fast Stiles’ heartbeat had gotten as he padded up the steps and out the door. Taking a second to shove the sound away, Derek glared at Erica and Isaac. “From now on, you stay away from both Scott _and_ Stiles. He can’t be trusted.”

“What the hell are you on?” Erica shouted.

Isaac’s words bled over hers. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Isaac’s voice hadn’t gone above a sarcastic drawl since Derek had met him, and it cut sharply at such a high volume. Instinctively, Derek snarled.

This was what he’d been trying to avoid. Stiles spreading this idea that it was okay for Derek’s pack to scold him for doing what was best for them. For protecting them. “What did you just say?” he growled.

“Stiles didn’t tell Scott about Boyd you jackwagon!” Erica said. “Not until I told him he could because you wanted Scott to know! He didn’t say a word!”

“And he didn’t say anything about me either! I was listening the whole time! He tried to keep Scott away from me on the field!”

Erica and Isaac moved like twins, stomping forward, even if Isaac’s steps were a little more hesitant. “Do you even know how disgusted Scott was with me?” Erica whispered, eyes wide and wet again, though the puffiness from before had healed. “He looked at me like I was some kind of monster just because I _asked_ for the bite.”

“You’re not a monster,” Derek tried, but Erica snarled at him.

“That’s not the point! That’s what he did to me, and he doesn’t even know me. Can you imagine what he would have done to Stiles if he found out Stiles joined the pack without even asking for the bite? What he would have done to _you_ for letting Stiles in?”

Isaac shook his head. “Even I know that Scott’s weird about Stiles. Ever since Stiles’ mom died in the fifth grade and Scott moved to town, it’s like he’s got this monopoly on the guy. You know he and Jackson used to be best friends, right? Plus, there was that girl who switched schools?”

“Heather,” Erica supplied.

Derek choked back the sour taste in his mouth at the mention of Stiles’ mom’s death. “Of course I don’t know that. How do you expect me to know that?”

“I literally never talk to him, and even I knew that. He and Heather get together every few months and go skating at the rink,” Boyd said, frowning. “The guy never shuts up, it’s not that hard to get information out of him.”

“You said he was your first pack member, you could have just _asked_ ,” Erica sniped.

That tone scratched at Derek’s nerves and he growled. Surprising him again, Erica and Boyd backed down, but Isaac smirked.

“He said not to worry about the growling after I got my bite.”

“He’s a human with no self preservation instinct.” Derek retorted. “We are done talking about this. Stay away from him. Stay away from Scott.”

The thin door and drafty walls of Derek’s room weren’t enough to block out the quiet mutters of his pack, but he pretended they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Hate me yet? It was so weird to write these chapters out and put in all these twists and moments. I genuinely was so desperate for changes and stuff like this in the show, that I _forgot_ that I intended for other people to read this. My poor Beta read it and was like "you're gonna make people cry, Tali." So, yeah, my bad. XD See you next week!
> 
> Side note: That STUPID thing at the rink always made me so angry. Scott destroying the ice like that could lose Boyd his job. How was he supposed to explain that to his bosses?  
> Also, listen. I love Lydia. I think she's amazing. And her and Stiles together is like fucking _gold_. BUT. I legit cannot see them as dating. I always saw them as more sibling-like, honestly. They have a lot of surprisingly similar behaviors. Besides, while yeah, this fic is pretty heavily biased in Stiles and Derek's favor, I just...I couldn't let that slide. Stiles' behavior with Lydia was creepy and weird, whatever his intentions. It needed called out, and I was happy to be the one to make that happen, since the show was so insistent on making it romantic that he legit stole her phone and mooned over her while she was dating _someone else_. It's not even about Jackson, it's about not respecting that she was in a different relationship and wasn't fucking interested.  
> But now that that's fixed, we can move on to all the other shit I didn't like. XD  
> EDIT: Hey, so I realized that the way I was describing Boyd's skin tone was in the 'Not Great' column and I went back to change it. I'm gonna keep checking for more mistakes, and try to fix them where I can. I wanted to apologize to any of my beautiful readers of color, and I promise I'll do better. Boyd is a character that I love, and I wanna do him justice.


	4. Episode 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy, it's the pool episode! I know we all have our own little ideas about what Derek and Stiles talked about while they were waiting in the pool, so here's my take. Plus, some pack time!

“ _Armor Tire & Service Center - You’ll love our ENGINE-uity!”_

Stiles snorted and flicked the spindly rack sideways until a couple cards slipped out of their holders. Why would an auto shop need postcards?

He was debating whether to bother picking them up when a power tool whirred on from the garage. That wasn’t the sound he was supposed to hear when getting his starter replaced. At least, Stiles didn’t think so.

Roscoe was old, and there was usually something wrong with her, but the logistics of fixing her himself went over Stiles’ head, so anything he wanted done had to get done in a garage.

Stiles used most of his allowance every month to pay for little repairs when he could so as not to worry his dad, but he needed to pay for gas too, and things had started piling up a while ago. Everything he’d saved up had gone to fixing the damage from Peter ripping the battery out and bending his hood to hell, so when his starter crapped out out of the blue, Stiles was forced to actually ask his dad for the money to fix it.

“Hey, hey! What do you think you’re doing?” he called, storming over to the lift that Roscoe was sitting on. It looked so small and old next to the big pickup on the other side of the room.

The douchebag, who’d smugly introduced himself as Tucker, didn’t even turn to look at him.

“All I needed was a starter.”

“Yeah, but it looks like your whole exhaust system’s gotta be replaced.” Then he went right back to apparently unscrewing bits of the system, taking out small bolt after small bolt.

Stiles chewed on his lip and glared from his awkward angle leaning under the side of the lift. “Why do I get the feeling you’re slightly overestimating the damage?”

With a shrug, Tucker continued, “It’s probably gonna run you around, like, twelve hundred, parts and labor.”

Stiles gaped. “Are you _kidding_? This thing doesn’t even have a catalytic converter!” He squinted at the look Tucker threw over his shoulder. “And yes, I know what a _catalytic converter_ is.” Or at least, he’d found out once it was stolen off his car and the whole thing started being much louder and much smellier.

“You know what a limited slip differential is?” Tucker sniped.

“I—no…”

“Yeah, it’ll run you more like fifteen hundred.”

“Okay…” Stiles sighed. “Just finish.” He ducked back out from under the lift and turned to leave, clenching his fists. “I’ll be back here.” He added in a mutter, “Seething with impotent rage.”

He was doing a lot of that lately. Watching someone pull the guts out of his car and accruing a bill that was gonna take _months_ to pay off was just the latest on a long list of thorns in Stiles’ side.

First there was Derek, whose name made Stiles so angry he wanted to flip a table over. Then Scott, who Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to yell at for getting into that stupid fight with Erica and Isaac, for fear of getting kicked out of yet another friend group. His shoulder still had little scabs from Scott’s accidental clawing in the hall. And then Deaton, whose bullshit shouldn’t have surprised Stiles so much, since he’d been the one to pull all that wolfsbane out of Scott’s stomach before Peter died. And yet, hearing that he not only knew about werewolves, but was aware of their entire situation and hadn’t thought to clue them in earlier brought Stiles perilously close to an aneurysm. Deaton was a grown ass adult who’d left the fate of the town in the hands of two teenagers, a bunch of bloodthirsty hunters, and two seriously traumatized individuals.

Derek hadn’t been wrong when he singled Deaton out. He’d known Deaton was lying about something, known he was faking his innocence. He’d just mixed it up with thinking Deaton was the Alpha.

Stiles hated that he felt guilty for yelling at Derek about that. He was pissed at Derek for a dozen other reasons. He shouldn’t feel guilty about this.

Again, with the impotent rage.

Just to top things off, when Stiles grabbed at the handle to the lobby his palm slipped right off, covered in something slimy. “Oh, nice. Real sanitary.” He looked over his shoulder. “Real quality establishment you’re running here!”

Shaking his hand off, Stiles grabbed the handle again and shoved his way into the lobby. He wiped the goo off on the red sleeve of his hoodie, glaring around the room. Hanging on the wall was a framed photograph of Tucker in full Beacon Hills Lacrosse uniform. His jersey marked him number one. “Figures.”

As he pulled his phone out of one pocket, Stiles resisted the urge to shake his hand out. It was tingling, slightly numb, as though he’d been sitting on it for too long. He only managed to open up an empty text message before the tingling got worse instead of better, going from a faint weirdness to painful pin and needles in _both_ his hands and arms.

Stiles stared down at his hands. “What the—”

They were numb now, deadened to the point that he couldn’t do much more than make them shake. The slight weight of his phone against his fingers was only recognizable in discomfort, as though his nerves had forgotten what touch was supposed to feel like. Grunting slightly, Stiles tried to jerk his arms forward, or down, or anything. All it did was make his phone slide to the floor.

This wasn’t natural. Something was _wrong._ Through the glass, Stiles could see Tucker still working away on the Jeep, completely oblivious to the dark shape that was climbing _upside down_ along the side of Roscoe. There were long white claws coming out of the hand—paw?—that curled around the bottom of the Jeep’s carriage, and the whole thing reflected little flickers of fluorescent light as it headed straight for Tucker.

“Hey.” Stiles’ voice came out hoarse with fear, but he tried again, wobbling slightly on tingling knees. “Hey!”

The shape swiped out, and Tucker’s hand went to the back of his neck. He dropped to the cement floor like a rock, much faster than Stiles’ jerky fall to the ground.

It was excruciating to use his shoulders to crawl toward his fallen phone, unable to feel how much pressure he was putting on them. The cheap carpet slid against his face, burning the only part of him that he had real sensation in.

He could see Tucker still, laying under the lift, not so much as twitching. With a loud hiss, the lift began to lower, more of the Jeep’s blue siding coming into view with every second. Soon, Tucker started to call out.

This wasn’t going to end well. Actually, it was about to end horrifically. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Stiles reached out and slapped his rigid hand against the screen of his phone. The only way to tell that he’d pressed anything was the screen lighting up. Another slap and he managed to open the emergency call screen. Nine—One—One—

It was too late. Stiles couldn’t even turn his head to get away from the blurry sight of the metal coming down on Tucker’s face. God, he was still yelling.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could. He couldn’t watch anyone else die.

As the lift came to a stop with a loud clank, Stiles blinked open his eyes. He didn’t want to look, but what if whatever had just killed Tucker was still there?

A scaled face popped up behind the glass of the door, hissing loudly and revealing black jagged teeth. Its pupils were long and slitted, surrounded by sickly yellow irises. Its hissing paused for a moment, and it tilted its head to stare at him. Stiles couldn’t do anything but stare back until it suddenly screeched and disappeared.

“ _Nine-One-One, what’s your emergency?”_

By the time an ambulance and his father arrived, whatever had paralyzed Stiles had worn off and he used his regained abilities to stumble out of the building and throw up in a bush. He was still dry heaving when his dad came storming out of the cruiser.

“Stiles, what the hell happened?”

Stiles shook his head. His eyes were streaming and he was kind of dizzy, but, he had to think. This was _important_. He couldn’t just be falling apart here. At least it’d started raining, so his wet face wouldn’t be too noticeable.

He grit his teeth and sucked in a foul tasting breath. Then another, sucking the imagined sounds of bones crunching and organs squelching far far back in his head. Then, he twisted his brows together and lifted his gaze. “God, Pops, it was nasty. I just came in to get Roscoe, and he was all _yuck_ on the floor.”

“Hold on, hold on. Okay?” Noah turned Stiles around, and he planted his eyes on his dad’s badge. “Hey, are you okay?”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, yeah. Yeah, Dad, I’m good.” Just to lay it on thick, he forced a nonchalance and added, “The guy looked like a squished bug, though. Not pretty.”

Even though his dad’s jacket was damp and cold, Stiles relished it pulling him in for a quick hug. His dad was never stingy about hugs. Plus, with his dad distracted, Stiles could scrub his hand down his thigh, letting the rough denim scrape off any leftover ick. That must’ve been what’d numbed up his hands, hell, his whole body.

Noah called out to another officer that’d showed up, and Stiles waved cheekily at the semi-familiar brown face while his dad made a quick re-introduction. “Stiles, you might as well get the statement over now.”

“Sup, Officer—”

“Grant,” the woman said.

She was all business, but Stiles wasn’t really ready to be serious yet. “Right, Grant. Johnny’s replacement. Hey, you brought those brownies to the Christmas potluck. Bold move bringing chocolate into the same room as my dad.”

That got a small smile and a nod in his dad’s direction. “I guess you could say I needed the brownie points.”

Stiles snorted and his nausea faded just slightly. He stretched his fingers out and curled them up tight. Stretch and curl. Stretch and curl. “Nice. For that I’ll let you get away with feeding my dad sweets. But just this once. Anyway, statement. Uh,” He took a second to check his phone. Nine o’clock. “I showed up about fifteen minutes ago? So, eight forty-five. All the lights were on, door was unlocked. Nothing out of place in the lobby or at the desk. I went in to pick up my car. It just needed a new starter. First thing I saw was the car on the ground, then the guy all squished underneath it. I called nine-one-one, then went outside to puke my guts out while I waited.”

Around them, basic crime scene things were happening. Stiles knew from years of poking questions and wide eyed watching from the back of the cruiser that some officers would go in first, then the paramedics, probably to see if the mechanic was still alive. Then more cops to secure the building and check for any other witnesses. Once they knew for sure there was no hope, someone would call the coroner. Stiles was always iffy about that part.

“And you didn’t see anyone else around?”

“Nope, just the guy.”

The guy, and a scaly, lizard thing that killed him. But it didn’t. It didn’t even kill him itself. It let Stiles’ fucking Jeep kill him. What kind of animal did that?

When Officer Grant finished taking notes, Stiles shrugged away the paramedics. He was just a witness. No injuries, except a little rug burn on his chin and shaky hands. It was easier to hide the latter of those by calling up Scott and stepping a little ways away from his dad’s side so he wouldn’t overhear.

“Hey man, I need a ride.”

“ _I’m across town, Stiles. I thought you were getting the Jeep fixed?_ ”

Stiles rubbed at his jaw, letting his wet hand cool the sting of the irritation. “Yeah, well then that thing you saw at Isaac’s showed up and killed my mechanic.”

“ _Are you okay? What happened?”_

“Literally that, Scott. It showed up, killed the guy, and left. And my Jeep isn’t even fixed, so can I get a ride?”

“ _I’ll be there soon._ ”

Sometimes Stiles wished his dad weren’t quite so perceptive of a cop. Especially when he was tugged over to sit on the back edge of the ambulance, where the small overhang at least kept rain out of his eyes. “Son, one of these days we need to have a talk about you showing up at so many crime scenes. Now, tell me what happened again.”

Stiles should be more curious. He _would_ be more curious, if he hadn’t watched it happen. He’d be asking questions left and right, annoying the hell out of his dad. But he couldn’t muster up the energy to fake it.

His hand felt dirty, like there was a film over it even though he’d rubbed all the gunk off his skin. Rolling his fingers together, Stiles flicked the hand out as though he were shaking something off and tried not to look his dad in the eye as he settled slowly onto the tail of the ambulance. “I told you, I just—I walked in and I saw the Jeep on top of the guy. That’s all.”

Flicking his hand again didn’t help, but it was something to do besides pinching himself to make sure he still had feeling.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” Noah asked.

Immediately, Stiles flicked it again, then one more time before he curled it into a fist and tucked it into his elbow. “Nothing, can I just get out of here now?”

“Look,” Noah started. “If there’s something you don’t think you can tell me—”

“You think I’m lying?” Stiles asked. He was. He unequivocally was, but it was to keep his dad safe and Stiles refused to regret it.

“No! Of course not.” The surety with which his father spoke was grounding, even if it was a total mistake. “I’m just worried about you. Now if you saw someone do this, and if you’re afraid that maybe they’re gonna come back and make sure you don’t say anything about it—”

Stiles set his face as straight and sure as possible before looking his dad in the eye and lying, “I didn’t see anything. At all. Can I go now, please?”

Noah drooped his head and pursed his lips. “Sure.” Then, with sympathy, “But not in the Jeep. It’s being impounded. Sorry, kid, it’s evidence.”

Rubbing his clean hand over his head in frustration, Stiles groaned. “Look, at least make sure they wash it?” It wasn’t like the Jeep would start anyway, without all those bits the mechanic had taken. Stiles better not have to pay the bill.

Cynicism was a last defense, and Stiles clung to it.

A wave over his dad’s shoulder was the only response, but Stiles didn’t have to wait at the ambulance for too long before Scott was pulling up in his mom’s car.

“You okay?” Scott asked, voice quiet.

Here at least, Stiles could peel back one of the layers of lies he was practically being smothered by. He would freak out or whatever his brain decided to do once he was at home in bed, but now, he needed to be useful. “Yeah, you were right. It’s not like you. I mean, its eyes were almost, like, reptilian.”

It definitely wasn’t a werewolf. It didn’t look remotely like one, for one, and for another, it didn’t look…entirely there. Every wolf Stiles had seen so far was still _there_ , still of their own mind, even if that mind was as messed up as Peter’s. Even that Omega had been conscious enough to ask to join Derek’s pack. But this…this was something almost completely feral. Almost.

“But there was something about ‘em,” he muttered, trying to place that look he’d seen in the short moment that it’d tilted its head at him and stopped hissing.

Scott shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t look over at Scott, just stared at the condensation and drizzle rolling down the windows, trying to keep his concentration. “You know when you see, like, a friend in a Halloween mask, but all you can actually see are their eyes, and you feel like you know them, but you just can’t figure out who it is?”

“Are you saying you know who it is?”

“No,” Stiles said, finally meeting Scott’s eyes. “But I think it knew me.”

That was why his hands hadn’t stopped shaking. Why he was almost grateful he couldn’t drive his Jeep home, because he might just crash the damn thing. This thing had killed at least three people, if it was the thing responsible for Isaac’s dad’s death. It was something _wrong_ and sick, and it knew Stiles. It’d looked him in the face and let him go.

What was that supposed to mean?

* * *

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Isaac sighed and leaned back against the post he was sitting in front of, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes in a look so stereotypical Derek was almost positive he’d learned it from a movie.

At Isaac’s side, Boyd spoke up. “To be fair, you never look like you’re joking.”

Erica’s giggle and Isaac’s snort left Derek fighting back a snarl.

This was the most basic, most important foundation of control and culture of his entire species, and they were acting like he was telling them fairy tales.

As Erica’s giggles died down, she rubbed at a temple. “So, what you’re saying is that Scott is able to play sports because he’s got a girlfriend?”

“No,” Derek growled, “he has an _anchor_.”

“Who is Allison,” Isaac supplied.

“Yes.”

Boyd leaned forward, nodding thoughtfully. “Who is his girlfriend.”

“ _Yes_. No. Allison isn’t his anchor because she’s his girlfriend. She’s his anchor because they love each other.”

Erica shoved a stolen Dorito into her mouth and crunched down on it. “Well _that_ sounds unstable.”

This time, Derek growled properly, flashing his eyes for good measure. “No, it _isn’t_. That’s how anchors work and without one you’ll spend the rest of your life going mad every full moon.”

“No, I don’t think that’s what she means.” Boyd was the only one of them that actually looked like he was paying attention, even if he was eating chips that smelled more like plastic than food. “It’d make sense if his anchor was love, wouldn’t it? You said that emotions are the easiest to hold on to, because they stick around even when our memories aren’t reliable, like on the full moon. But if Scott’s anchor is just that he and Allison are _in_ love, then what happens if they aren’t dating anymore? She’s a hunter, how does that even work?”

Erica jumped in before Derek could answer. “Can’t you smell it on them? They stink of each other. I know way too much about their sex life just from talking to Scott a couple times. Plus there’s all the sneaking around in classrooms so her parents don’t find out.”

“Wait,” Isaac frowned, “if the Argents don’t know they’re together, how do they talk to each other?”

“How do you think, genius? Stiles.”

Again, Isaac snorted, and Boyd was hiding a smile.

Derek’d hoped that keeping Stiles on the fringes of the pack in the first place would have kept the pack bond to a minimum, but no one had warned him about Erica’s old crush, or how tightly Stiles would latch on to the entire concept of pack.

It’d started normal enough, the tentative, intangible whisp of connection that formed when Derek agreed to take Stiles into the pack was exactly what he’d expected. A bond born of mutual dislike wasn’t supposed to be strong. It was just supposed to keep Derek sane. But by the time Isaac was arrested, Stiles’ bond was already like piano wire, thin and stretched tight from stress, but stronger than it _ever_ should have been.

Unfortunately, the connection seemed to go both ways. Stiles responded to the bond with the Betas outrageously quickly, but they’d clearly also attached themselves to him. His own Betas had alternated between sniping at him and giving him the silent treatment for the last twenty four hours as punishment for banning them from going near Stiles. Now that he’d gotten them to focus long enough for a lesson on control, he couldn’t keep the conversation from veering back to the hyperactive brat.

He wasn’t pack. He wasn’t supposed to be pack. And yet Derek couldn’t muster enough conviction to snap the connection because everywhere he turned his actual pack had integrated Stiles. The Nintendo DS that Stiles had given Isaac hadn’t left his hand all day, and Erica kept having quiet moments where she stank of concern and guilt that Derek just knew came from accidentally throwing him. Even Boyd, despite having spent the least amount of time with Stiles, both in general and after the bite, had yet to return the flannel that Stiles had yanked off his own back to sop up Isaac’s blood.

It was infuriating.

“Your anchor is how you’ll keep control on the full moon, and any other time you’re stressed out enough or angry enough to shift. Isaac, you’re getting better at shifting up and down, but you still have no anchor, which means you’re going to shift at the slightest provocation. Erica, Boyd, this is even more important for you. You’re in public. The hunters can’t know you exist, so keep your heads down and _find your anchor._ No more theatrics until we have a plan.” The solemn nods in his direction settled Derek just slightly, and he stood up. Without warning, he shifted up, stretching his jaw around fangs.

Immediately, Isaac shifted up as well. It took him longer, and he wrinkled his nose like he still wasn’t used to it, but it was a full Beta shift. Beside him, Erica got caught halfway through, her fangs grown fully, but her eyes still a soft brown and her ears only slightly pointed. Boyd’s eyes merely flickered, but his claws scritched across his jeans, fully formed.

Nodding at each one respectively, Derek shifted down and muttered. “Good. Better. Practice.”

The slight praise sent Erica into euphoria, and Isaac actually grinned, smelling of warm stones and pine.

The three of them jumped to their feet, but Derek had already turned away. He wasn’t even remotely comfortable with their antics, and it was easier to just leave the room rather than trying to evade them. Apparently, he’d been wrong about Isaac’s tactility. He practically hung on Erica and Boyd whenever they were in the vicinity. It was just Derek that he kept a good distance from.

As such, it came as a complete surprise when Isaac’s scent and sound came up behind Derek and didn’t stop at the two foot unspoken boundary. Instead, his hand slapped down on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed.

The snarl was out before Derek could stop himself, and so were his fangs again. This time he bared them until Isaac backed away.

It was one rule. One, easy rule that he’d _thought_ Isaac understood.

But now he’d scared his Beta, again.

His mother never _had_ to strongarm the pack into doing what she wanted. Derek couldn’t remember her ever having to shift to get her point across, except with Peter. But he’d always been an outlier, even before the fire.

As Derek stormed out of the building, rolling his shoulders to rid himself of Isaac’s touch, he fought hard to keep himself shifted down. He wasn’t made for this. It wasn’t his job. He wasn’t supposed to become the next Hale Alpha. That was Laura’s job, and hell, even after her, Lucas was next in line.

But they were dead, and what other choice did Derek have? Should he have let Scott kill Peter and become an Alpha? Erica and Boyd had a point. Derek had already seen what happened when Allison broke up with Scott for a month. How much worse would he be as an Alpha? Or should he have let Peter die on his own, and the Hale legacy along with it, leaving Derek with no way of defending himself when the hunters came looking for the wolves that’d killed Kate?

The Alpha spark was all Derek had left of his family. He might not be a decent Alpha, but he wasn’t giving it up.

Apologizing wasn’t in Derek’s nature, but if Erica could be easily appeased with gifts, who was to say Isaac wouldn’t be? So, he climbed into the Camaro and sped off toward the tiny convenience store on the edge of town, the only place safe enough for him to shop without spending an hour travelling to and from the next town over. The security was so bad, he could even bring Isaac with without worrying someone would recognize him as a fugitive.

Isaac had a thing about chocolate, squirreling candy bars onto the conveyer belt when he thought Derek wasn’t looking, then making them last for days in tiny nibbles. There was a story of some kind behind that, but Derek wasn’t likely to hear it anytime soon. For all that they’d snapped at him for not knowing about Stiles’ past, it wasn’t as though any of them were offering up their own histories. How was he supposed to ask if something traumatic had happened in their lives that he needed to be… _sensitive_ …of?

As usual, the cashier at the front gave him a side-eye as soon as he walked in and grabbed a basket. They were usually more subtle about thinking he was going to rob them blind when he had Isaac with him, except the one woman he’d heard muttering about reporting Derek as a kidnapper. Thankfully, that idea was shut down almost immediately by another worker who’d somehow gotten it in her head that he and Isaac were brothers. Considering he’d heard the conversations from across the store, Derek hadn’t exactly been able to correct her.

His phone began to buzz as he dropped a handful of Snickers into the bottom of the basket next to the bottle of “Mocha Frappuccino” he’d seen Isaac eyeing.

Where the name **Bruce W __** _._ popping up on his screen had originally been only mildly irritating, seeing it now made Derek grit his teeth. Rather than chucking his phone across the room like his first instincts demanded, he snapped it open and pressed it to his ear.

“What part of staying away from us don’t you understand?”

The line was quiet for a second, enough to make Derek frown and check that the call was connected. With his temper frayed as it was, Derek didn’t wait much longer before barking, “Stiles! What do you want?”

 _“I—I thought you’d want to know there was another murder tonight._ Armor Tire _, on twenty-second street.”_

Stiles’ voice over the line was distinctly un-Stiles-like. It was hesitant, exhausted, and, more than anything, scared. Against his better judgement, Derek opened his mouth to ask what had happened, if Stiles was hurt, only to hear the line click off.

It didn’t matter anyway, the murder was Derek’s first priority.

The light rain that’d started on his way to the store had increased to just below a downpour by the time he reached the mechanic’s garage that Stiles had mentioned.

Standing in the rain with his car hidden a few blocks away, it was easy to hear what was being said by the flurry of officers. It was a crime scene alright, and one of the women standing near the door lamented to her neighbor that the guy who’d owned the place had never actually hooked up his surveillance system, probably unwilling to pay the extra electricity bill. No working cameras, no way to catch the bad guy.

Then, to Derek’s horror, Stiles’ Jeep was towed out of the garage. There was a black tarp covering it to protect it from the rain, but the shape was instantly recognizable, as was the sheriff following it out, heedless of the water pouring down on him.

“Make sure it gets washed after we look it over, will you, Jameson? I’ll have it towed home tomorrow afternoon,” Sheriff Stilinski said into the cracked window of the tow truck.

Derek moved closer, despite the response being crystal clear.

“Sure thing, boss. Hey, tell your kid we hope he’s doin’ alright. Hell of a thing, walking in on a scene like that.”

The chances that Stiles had managed to simply walk in after the murder had happened were astronomical. Suspicious, Derek went back to his car and waited. And waited. Two hours later, the lights from all the police cars had disappeared, and only a crisscross of caution tape over the door barred his way.

As he entered the lobby and got out of the overwhelming scents of water and mud, a wave of fear hit Derek’s senses. Stiles’ fear. The kind of scent that couldn’t have come from just seeing a dead body. Whatever had happened, Stiles had witnessed it, been a part of it somehow.

And Derek had snapped at him over the phone.

He shouldn’t feel guilty about that. He’d warned Stiles not to call, to leave him and his pack alone.

When Derek returned to the depot, Boyd and Erica were long gone, and the light in Isaac’s room was out. He couldn’t hear anything but soft breaths from behind the door, signalling that Isaac had really gone to sleep. Rather than wake him, Derek just moved to put the drink and candies into the mini-fridge he’d bought a few days ago.

The suction release of the fridge door brought rustling from the room immediately, and Derek grimaced.

Isaac’s eyes were heavy when he opened the door. He rubbed at one with a fist, then scratched his fingers through his hair as he held out the other hand. A piece of paper dangled from his fingers.

Derek took it carefully. It was the will that Stiles had given them, the one stating that Derek was a family friend and was to be Isaac’s guardian should anything happen to him. At the bottom was a vicious scrawl that was probably a perfect match to Victor Lahey’s.

“You’re kind of an ass, but I’m cool with it,” Isaac yawned. Then the door was shut again, and Derek was left gaping at the paper.

* * *

Stiles could learn to dread his phone ringing before eight in the morning. No one _ever_ called that early for a good reason.

This time at least, Allison’s need to talk to him was useful. With his car done for until he could pay to get it towed to another shop and fixed, Stiles was rideless. Allison, however, had a very nice little Mazda.

She showed up early, as Stiles was drinking his coffee, and came to the door to pick him up. As he coughed through his newly scalded throat, Stiles buckled up as fast as possible in case she started speeding again.

“So, I need a favor.”

“Shoot. Wait, no, don’t shoot. Keep the your arrows far from me, please, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Stiles sent a blinding grin in Allison’s direction before jabbing at his phone to keep his fingers busy.

Allison’s laugh was gratifying. “I just, I need to talk to Scott. But—”

“Your parents are watching your every move, text, and call. I know.”

“Exactly. But they aren’t watching yours.”

Stiles glanced over at her. “What, you want to borrow my phone?”

That would be bad. That would be very bad. Stiles had messages on his phone from Derek and no way to explain their contents without spilling his secret. Well, it wasn’t much of a secret anymore, seeing as he’d been kicked out of the pack. But still, he was more than a little antsy at the thought of handing over his cell.

“No, I don’t know.”

The phone in question buzzed.

**Lost Boy: You said not to worry about the growling?? what about the fangs???**

Stiles gaped at his phone, then jerked his gaze back up to Allison to see if she’d noticed. “Uh, I could just tell him. I’ve got a really good verbal memory.”

_Wht happened?_

**Lost Boy: I just touched his shoulder and he freaked out!!**

**Lost Boy: Full fang!!**

**__** _Don’t touch him. Bad idea. Srsly, Derek hates being touched._

**Lost Boy: Ever??? I thought he was trying to be??polite or something?? Because of my dad???**

“Seriously? Stiles, listen, you know that I’m not…I’m not trying to use you or anything.”

Stiles’ head shot up from his screen. “What?”

Allison stopped at a light and dropped one hand to her lap. “We’re friends, right? Just because I’m dating Scott doesn’t mean that I only like you because of him.”

A drip of warmth in Stiles’ chest made him smile. Yeah, he knew exactly why Scott was so head over heels for this girl. “Yeah, Allison, I know. Trust me, if you weren’t exactly as awesome as Scott thinks you are, I wouldn’t be offering.”

“Oh, okay.” Allison grinned. “Good.”

Turning back to his texts, Stiles grimaced. He should have known that Derek wouldn’t outright tell Isaac to give him space. He should have mentioned it at some point.

_Ever. If u need 2 get ur touchy-feely rocks off that badly use Erica, or Boyd, or hell, even me. We can b touch buddies._

Stiles paused.

_Not like that. Assholes aren’t my type._

**Lost Boy: Assholes are sooo your type**

**__** _True. 2 b honest, I don’t date blondes._

**Unknown: Guess that counts me out?**

Blinking at the screen, Stiles took a breath and added the number to his contacts.

_I’m assuming this is Erica. Yah, it does, unfortunately. Besides, Boyd wld eat me 4 even looking at u. Did u c his face when I hugged u?_

**Lost Boy: Were you serious before??? About the touching thing??**

**__** _Is it srsly that bad 4 u guys?_

Stiles squinted around himself in confusion. Scott definitely wasn’t any more tactile with him since the bite. He pushed and shoved more, but he wasn’t exactly leaning in for hugs. Maybe he was getting his quota from Allison?

**Wendy Darling: Yes, and that isnt me hitting on you for once We think its some kind of pack thing but we can’t exactly ask Derek**

**__** _Well, yah, I meant it. Wait, r u 2 just sitting next 2 each other reading the screens?_

**Unknown: Three.**

Stiles choked on his own spit and had to hack into his arm for a few seconds before he could get his breathing back. In the driver’s seat, Allison had pulled into the parking lot of the school and was staring at him.

“What the hell was that, Stiles?”

“Sorry, my—uh, my dad just sent me a really bad joke.”

_Oh. Uh, hi, Boyd._

**Lost Boyd: Hi.**

By the time he’d memorized Allison’s first message to Scott and climbed out of the car, Stiles’ mortification had smoothed out to the usual amount. It jumped right back up to DEFCON 1 levels when he popped open his locker to reveal a heavy leather jacket hanging from the hook.

Gingerly lifting it from its spot and holding it out in front of him, Stiles tried not to hyperventilate. He was dead. He was so incredibly dead.

“Try it on!” Erica squealed from behind him.

Stiles yelled and spun around, thwapping Boyd on the arm with the jacket. “Why do you _do_ that? How did you even get this in my locker?”

Boyd simply raised an eyebrow at Stiles, while Erica beamed in Boyd’s direction. Why did he keep forgetting the werewolf part of things?

“Isaac said you have to wear that, since he’s not at school,” Boyd said.

“But this is _Derek’s_. How did you get it away from him?”

Fluttering her eyes, Erica shrugged. “I told him I forgot mine at home. Now, come on, try it on! I’ve had _daydreams_ about you in leather.”

Stiles shuddered and continued to stare at the piece of clothing. “I don’t get it. Why does Isaac want me to wear this? Are you trying to get me torn apart? Derek will rip my throat out, with his teeth, for even touching this. You’re talking to the walking dead right now.”

That got Boyd to scoff, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “Derek won’t do _anything_. He’s already in the dog house with us. Put the damn thing on, Stiles. Isaac thinks it smells like pack or something. His nose is better than mine.”

The knowledge that Boyd had just made a dog joke about his werewolf Alpha gave Stiles the courage to throw the jacket over his arms. To his immense surprise, it fit. The sleeves were baggy, since he didn’t have biceps the size of small cantaloupes to fill them, but it sat comfortably on his shoulders. Stiles had thought he would feel like he was playing dress-up with his dad’s sheriff’s outfit, but instead he just felt warm. Leather was a good insulator, who knew?

“And how exactly am I supposed to get this past Scott? I’ve never worn a leather jacket in my life. He’ll notice.”

“You sure about that?” Erica asked skeptically. “Derek said he can’t even tell a human and a werewolf’s scents apart.”

“That was one time! Yes, he’ll notice!”

Boyd tugged on Erica’s sleeve. “We need to go. Stiles, just tell him you got it from Lydia or something. She talks to you now, doesn’t she?”

That…might actually work. If Stiles could get past the raging guilt of lying to his best friend, that is.

Just before Erica pranced away with Boyd, she dove in for a tight hug, then leaned back and squinted at Boyd. “You know you want to.” A moment later, Stiles was pinned in the middle of a werewolf sandwich. Once he got the hair out of his mouth, it wasn’t too bad.

“Aw, Boyd. You know, _you’re_ not blond.”

“Shut up, Stilinski.”

Stiles had exactly two minutes after Boyd and Erica left to find Lydia before class, and he only managed it because Boyd had pointed him in the right direction. 

She was sitting in one of the chairs outside the guidance counselor’s office, wearing a pair of bright pink gloves and staring at the door with a laser focus. Why she had gloves on when the weather outside had finally started warming up, Stiles didn’t know, but he assumed it had something to do with the mysterious world of fashion.

As he skidded into view, Lydia turned to look at him, eyes flicking over him in examination. They paused on his chest after a moment and Lydia’s face shifted into something foreign and alert. “What are you doing with Lucas’ jacket? Where did you get that?”

Lydia rose to her feet with a fluid grace that reminded Stiles of someone he never wanted to be reminded of again. Peter was there. Peter was in her face, wearing that predatory glint in her eye and tensing her body into that of an animal ready to strike.

“L—Lydia?” Stiles stuttered.

Lydia blinked, and suddenly she was Lydia again. “What? What do you want?”

But Stiles had forgotten what he was intending to tell her. He could only stare.

That had been Peter. He was sure of it. Stiles may not have spent a huge amount of time with the guy, but he wasn’t about to forget the man he’d helped kill. Peter had…what had he done? Was he possessing Lydia? Werewolves were real, how likely was it that ghosts existed too? Holy shit, Lydia was being possessed.

“Stiles, what do you want? I have things to do.”

“I—uh…” Stiles coughed, then leaned forward. “If anyone asks, you gave me this jacket to wear.”

This time the critical eye Lydia gave him was all hers. “Well, it’s a little old, but I guess it’s better than that blazer you usually wear.” She paused. “Stiles, who _did_ give you that jacket?”

Stiles winced. “Can we maybe do that thing where friends do friends favors without asking questions?”

Lydia squinted at him for a second, then relaxed and dropped back down in her chair. “Fine. For now. You’ll explain it to me later though.”

“Definitely.” Stiles would have to. They couldn’t afford to keep Lydia in the dark about this stuff, whether Derek liked it or not. If she was being possessed by Peter’s ghost they needed to do an exorcism or a cleansing, or _something_. Maybe Deaton would have something to keep Lydia safe, a charm maybe?

He was almost relieved when Scott pointed out his jacket in a confused whisper as class started. If Erica had been right she’d never let him live it down.

“Lydia said it’s better than my blazer,” he hedged, letting the implication do the work for him to keep his heart from giving him away.

Scott bought the lie so easily it hurt, his grin and wink at Stiles like getting stabbed in the stomach. He still didn’t know that Lydia had shut Stiles down.

Stiles was lying now. Outright lying to Scott. His brother, his best friend. Before it’d been bad enough that he was keeping certain stuff quiet until Scott found out for himself, but now it was just complete betrayal. It was as bad as what Stiles was doing to his dad, if not worse since Scott already knew about the supernatural and wasn’t actually in physical danger. Stiles’ lies had nothing to do with keeping Scott safe, and everything to do with keeping Derek’s pack safe _from_ Scott.

Since when did Stiles choose someone else over his best friend?

After first period, Stiles delivered Allison’s message word-for-word at the same time that she walked down the hall, completely ignoring them, and happily took down Scott’s own mushy reply. If he was going to redeem himself, listening to Scott gush and having to repeat it himself was probably the bare minimum.

He had to wait until the end of the next period to deliver Scott’s message to a blushing Allison, and then couldn’t even get Allison’s reply until gym was out and she was heading to lunch in the courtyard.

Sitting on the step of the stairs with Scott, Stiles dutifully recited his lines. “I’m so sorry about the other day. I’m trying. We’ll get through this. I know, because I love you.” Scott smiled dopily at him, and Stiles tried not to shudder. He loved Scott, but this was excruciating. “I love you more than I can say, and I’m excited to watch you on the field tonight. There, message complete.”

There was a bad taste in his mouth from being so gushy, so Stiles made a face at the ground, then said, “Tell me about your boss. He’s ready to be helpful?”

“He thinks that Allison’s family keeps some kind of records of all the things that they’ve hunted. Like, a book.”

Finally Scott seemed to have learned the art of speaking quietly in public spaces, so of course Stiles had to get excited and yelp louder than necessary, “He probably means a bestiary!”

Scott gaped. “A what?”

“A bestiary,” Stiles repeated.

An awkward smile stretched Scott’s mouth as he chuckled, “I—I think you mean _bestiality_.”

Of all the words that Scott didn’t know, why couldn’t that word have been one of them? Stiles could have gone his entire life without hearing Scott say that. “Nope. Pretty sure I don’t. It’s like an encyclopedia of mythical creatures.”

Scott’s embarrassment went straight to indignation. “How am I the only one who doesn’t seem to know anything about this stuff?”

“Okay,” Stiles soothed, “you know, you’re my best friend, you’re a creature of the night. It’s kind of like a priority of mine.” He’d spent entire nights learning everything he could about the supernatural as a whole. It also helped that he’d always been into that kind of thing.

Of course, it might help their situation if Scott would do some research of his _own_.

Changing subjects, Scott clapped his hands together. “Okay, if we can find it and it can tell us what this thing is—”

“And who,” Stiles added.

“We need that book,” They said together. Stiles blinked at Scott in surprise as he went to stand up.

The look on Allison’s face as he relayed the information about the bestiary set off Stiles’ alarm bells.

“I think you mean—”

“No, I mean bestiary! And the two of you, I don’t wanna know what’s going on in your heads!” Stiles waved his hand as if swiping that stupid word away.

Properly chagrined, Allison shook her head. “Okay, uh, can you describe this thing?”

“It’s probably like a book. Old, worn—”

“Like, bound in leather?” Allison asked thoughtfully. “My grandfather has something just like that. He doesn’t let anyone look in it.”

That had to be it. “Where does he keep it?”

Allison shuffled her tray on the table. “I’ve seen him with it at school, so it must be in his office.”

“Can we get in there? Do you think if we get sent to the office again, maybe you could distract him long enough for us to look for it?” Stiles’ dad might actually kill him, but the serial killing lizard on the loose was probably more important.

Allison stood up and tossed her backpack over her shoulder. “No, I don’t want Scott anywhere near my grandfather. The game. I’ll have him come to the game with me, sneak you the keys, and then you can get the book and get back before he even notices.”

It was so nice to have someone else helping him make the plans so Stiles didn’t get in trouble.

On his way back through the school halls, Stiles was knocked forward into a pillar-like object by a weight slamming into his back. After all the attacks and near death situations he’d been in recently, Stiles’ first assumption was, naturally, that he was about to die.

Instead, arms came up at his front to keep him vertical, blonde hair flew over his shoulders, and a nose squished itself into the back of his neck. The legs around his back squeezed tight at his hips, and his hands instinctively went to hook under knees that were about to crack his pelvis.

“Erica, I swear to god, you need to stop that!” Stiles let Boyd straighten him out and frowned at his wide grin. “And _you_. Stop enabling her!”

Stiles let go of Erica’s knees and pushed down on them instead, shoving her feet to the floor. “We are in a very public space, with lots of windows. What the hell are you doing?”

The amount of smug on Erica’s face should have been illegal. “You said I could! Besides, that one was technically from Isaac. And,” she added loftily, “you stink of Scott and Allison. That’s not what the jacket is supposed to be for.”

“She’s right.” Boyd said. As if to prove the point, he frowned at Stiles’ arm and rubbed one hand down it determinedly for a few seconds.

“Better?” Stiles asked sarcastically when he stopped.

Boyd nodded, and Stiles shook his head.

“Not that I’m not, you know, happy to see you guys and all that, but I need to talk to Scott. What do you guys want?”

The two of them blinked at him, then at each other, then at him again.

Stiles blinked back. “What? It wasn’t just that, right?”

More blinking. Erica looked almost embarrassed.

“Oh my god, it was seriously just that? You just wanted to hug me?”

Just as Erica looked like she was going to say something rude, Stiles tugged them both into another hug. The two werewolves, who could pick him up and toss him down the hall if they wanted to, let him pull them into his arms. “That’s adorable as fuck,” he muttered. Then, a moment of self-awareness made him jerk backward just as suddenly as he’d leaned in. “It’s also weird as fuck.”

Stiles backed away from the two of them and put his hands up to create at least the illusion of a wall between him and them. “I feel like someone needs to acknowledge how weird this is, and since you two obviously aren’t, I’m going to. This? This is weird. No offense, but I barely know you.”

“That’s not true,” Erica scoffed. “You’ve known both of us since elementary school.”

“Uh, no, I’ve gone to school with you both since the first grade. There’s a difference,” Stiles said. He pointed at Boyd. “Before three days ago, you were just the guy who worked at the rink I go to. The guy who drinks chocolate milk on Mondays. And you,” he pointed at Erica, “Erica, no offense, but all I knew about you was that you were afraid of heights and epileptic. So, can someone please tell me why you suddenly want to get in my personal space? Or why I wanna get in yours?”

Their faces dropped and Stiles’ heart went with. God, why did this matter so much to him?

Boyd spoke up as Erica went to lean dejectedly against the wall and stare at her nails. “We told you, we think it’s a pack thing. We want to protect you, and for some reason it feels like you’ll protect us. Derek told us that pack protects pack, and we thought that was it. When he told us about being wolves, he never mentioned wanting to touch.”

He ducked his gaze away out the window. “Don’t you think this is weird for me too? I just wanted to hang out with some people, now I can’t keep my hands off them. I don’t _cuddle_ , okay? I hug my grandma in the morning when I leave for school, and that’s it. This is _weird_. But you were here first, you know? Even before Isaac.”

“So?” Stiles asked. His hands played with the strap of his backpack and he couldn’t quite look Boyd in the eye either.

“So, when we’re looking for someone to protect us, you’re the one we think of.” Erica answered from her spot. “I don’t know why, if it’s magic or what, but you have seniority. Deal with it.”

At that, Stiles couldn’t hold back a scowl. “Pack bonds are for pack. I’m not pack anymore.”

Boyd snapped, “Well, you fucking feel like it.”

“What’s it feel like?”

“What?” Erica came over to join their little group again.

Stiles faltered a little. “The bond. Derek said that pack bonds have a feeling. Like, string or something. He wouldn’t tell me what mine was like, but if you guys can still feel that string then that must mean I’m still pack, somehow. What does it feel like?”

Erica and Boyd looked at each other again, as though in a couple days they’d figured out how to communicate without words.

“It’s like,” Erica said, “you know when you feel like you’re forgetting something, but you can’t remember what? So your body is just telling you something is missing, and you have to fumble around trying different things until you find it? It’s like that, and the feeling only goes away when I’m around one of you guys. The more of you that are around, the more I can relax.”

Boyd picked up right where she left off. “And when we don’t see each other for a while, even just going home for the night, it gets worse until the next time we’re around. Erica and I at least see each other and you during the day, and we’ve got Isaac and Derek. But Isaac doesn’t see any of us except Derek most of the time. Which was why he got so rattled when Derek went off on him.”

Trying to process what he’d just been told, Stiles defaulted to sarcasm. “So, no string?”

They shrugged in unison.

“Not really,” Boyd said, “I mean, there’s this…tug? But I wouldn’t think to call it string. It’s stronger than that.”

Stiles looked around the hall and tried to think. Derek hadn’t mentioned anything like that feeling when he’d described the bond, and he certainly hadn’t been seeking Stiles out for comfort or anything. Was it different for Alphas? But, he’d only been an Alpha for a little while, and before that he’d still been a part of a pack. Surely, he’d know there was a difference? “I think you’ll get used to it,” he finally said. “I mean, if Derek and his sister could go all the way to New York without losing their minds over leaving Peter here, then they must have just adjusted to the feeling.”

Erica squinted at him. “Who’s Peter? Derek has more pack?”

“Not anymore, no. Peter’s the guy that bit Scott, and it wasn’t the friendly nip you guys got either. He’s—He was Derek’s uncle, and kind of a serial killer. He’s dead. So’s Derek’s sister.”

The wide-eyed interest of the Betas in front of him told Stiles that their Alpha wasn’t exactly keen on sharing personal information, even with pack. He opened his mouth to explain a little more, give them some hint of who Derek was, but the bell rang for the end of lunch. Scott was still waiting for an answer in the cafeteria.

Stiles leaned forward, but stopped himself just in time and simply placed his hands on Erica and Boyd’s shoulders. “I gotta go, I’ll see you later.”

Exactly as Stiles had predicted, the bench was much colder without Scott there to talk to. As punishment for missing the last game, Finstock had decided Stiles wasn’t even allowed to wear his uniform until he was needed on the field, so instead, Stiles just had on his track suit. Without the insulation of his pads, Stiles was more than a little chilly as he watched another teammate get slammed to the ground.

“Come on! Is that thing even a teenager? I wanna see a birth certificate!” Coach shouted, but he’d already complained so much over the last three quarters that the referee had threatened to dismiss him, so he came to sit on the bench once he’d made his displeasure known to the world. “Who or what is that genetic experiment gone wrong?” he asked Stiles.

Stiles rubbed his frozen fingers on his legs. “Eddie Obomowitz, Coach. They call him ‘The Abomination.’”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Coach grumbled. He turned away and Stiles went back to waiting for his cue from Allison. The benefit of not playing was that he was free to grab the keys she would snag from her grandfather and go hunting for the bestiary.

As soon as Allison and her grandfather stood up, Stiles began to meander his way over to their side of the bleachers, wincing sympathetically at the kid being carried away on a stretcher. Allison had placed herself well, at just the right height that as Stiles walked past her and palmed the keys she dangled from her fingers, he was hidden from her grandfather’s view.

Maybe that was part of her new training, learning the best vantage points. She hadn’t brought up any more horrifying sessions like the first one, but Stiles could only assume they were still happening. Allison was getting all this badass hunter training while Stiles was getting his ass glued to the lacrosse bench.

With the game so close to being over, Stiles headed for the school building at a run, only to stop dead at the sound of quiet sobs.

He could see Lydia through her car window, bawling into a tissue over her face, only wearing one of the pink gloves from that morning. Unable to just walk past her, Stiles jogged over to the driver’s side window.

“Hey, Lydia, what’s wro—”

The window instantly began to roll up and Lydia used her bare hand to cover her face.

“Lydia, come on.” Stiles rapped on the window

“Just go away!” Lydia’s muffled voice held none of her usual steel or confidence. She hadn’t stopped crying at the intrusion either, tears still streaming down her face.

Stiles leaned his forehead against the window. “What’s wrong?”

Groaning in frustration, Lydia snapped, “I don’t need anyone seeing me cry!”

“Aw, come on, Lydia,” Stiles sighed, “you shouldn’t care if people see you cry. Your feelings, your business. Anyone who has a problem with that, well, you shouldn’t care what they think anyway.”

After a moment, the window rolled down, and Stiles could lean his folded arms on the sill. At such close range, he could see that the glove on Lydia’s right hand had some unusual bumps, right over her knuckles. Was that what she was crying about?

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” Lydia whispered, and Stiles’ heart broke.

This was his fault. If Lydia was worried about looking like she’d lost her mind, it could only be because of Peter’s possession, or whatever it was. He’d meant to tell her, meant to get Erica or Boyd to help him. Instead she’d been reduced to crying in a car.

Rubbing at his eye, he promised, “Lydia, if you trust me on anything, you can trust me on this. There is _nothing_ you can say to me that would make you sound crazy. Literally nothing.” Behind them, Stiles could hear the cheering of the crowd. He was running out of time to get the bestiary. “But, can you just give me five minutes?”

There was a little of Lydia’s usual snark as she glared over at him, and he ducked his head. “I know, I’m sorry, just…just stay here and uh…keep crying—or not crying—whatever works for you. Just stay here and I’ll be right back. And then we can talk. About _anything_. Yeah?” Lydia didn’t nod, but she didn’t start the engine of her car, so he patted the sill. “Just five minutes!”

The book wasn’t there. Stiles dug through the drawers as frantically as he could without making it completely obvious the office had been searched, and no bestiary. For a second, Stiles tried to concentrate and remember what Allison had said. She said a small, leatherbound book, right? It was…brown. Or had she said black? It didn’t matter, because there were neither in this office. He’d left Lydia for nothing. Groaning, he pulled his phone out and opened up his text conversation with Allison. He couldn’t give any details with her parents checking her messages, but as long as he was vague…

_Nthng here._

“Boo.”

At this point, Stiles wasn’t surprised that he’d been surprised. Erica’s tiny giggle at his jump only made him grind his teeth.

“I’m gonna get you a bell.”

“That’s sweet, but I think I’m gonna stick with Boyd. You made a good call with him.” Erica came up and wrapped him in a quick hug. “We need your help.”

Stiles peered out into the hall. “Who’s we? Is Boyd coming?” Then, he shook his head. “No, no, Erica, I need to go. I told Lydia—”

“Not Boyd, Derek.”

Stiles froze. “He doesn’t want to see me. He told me—”

Erica grabbed his wrist tight and pulled him toward the door, ignoring the scrambling of his tennis shoes on the tile. “Yeah, well he _also_ said that you got attacked by something yesterday. You didn’t even tell us! Come on, Stiles. This is the perfect way to get him to stop being so stupid about all this. You tell him what you know and he’ll let us hang out with you again. Isaac misses you!”

“Isaac barely knows me!” Stiles cried.

“Would you get over that already?” Erica snorted. “Derek’s waiting for us by the pool.”

Stiles could only watch the front door get smaller and then disappear completely as Erica dragged him around a corner. “W—why the pool? I _hate_ pools.”

A hall away from the natatorium, she stopped walking and turned to face him. “Just tell him what you saw and it’ll all be fine.”

He caught on to Erica’s plan as they reached the natatorium door, with her arm over his shoulder and the way she’d practically wiped her hands on his jacket. Rather than be overheard by Derek and make things worse, Stiles flapped his hands at Erica until she backed away and he could enter the room with at least a little distance between them.

Stiles wasn’t going to be the reason that Derek got pissy with Erica, or any of the others. If Derek wanted him to stay away, then he would. For everyone’s sake.

To his surprise, Derek didn’t react to Stiles being basically covered in Erica’s scent. Then, Stiles took a breath in and understood completely. The burn of chlorine must’ve been covering everything else. Stiles nearly sneezed at it, so it was a wonder Derek could breathe at all.

“I know what happened at the garage,” Derek said, arms crossed. His face gave nothing away.

Because Derek brought out the twelve-year-old in Stiles, he nodded in agreement. “A bunch of EPA violations is what happened. I’m seriously considering reporting them.”

Erica’s giggle earned her a sharp glare from Derek.

“Are you hurt?”

Another surprise, this one left Stiles blinking. Or maybe that was the chlorine. Apparently, this was as close as Derek would get to apologizing for hanging up on him. “Uh, no. But my car is out of commission until next month at _least_. And then there’s the constant feeling that there’s something on the palm of my hand.” As if to prove the point, Stiles’ hand began to itch, and he rubbed it on his thigh.

“What did you see?”

“You know, we could have done this over the phone. Or over text. Or any time other than right this instant. I have someone waiting on—”

“ _What_ _did you see?_ ” Derek barked.

Huffing, Stiles crossed his arms. “ _Fine_. The thing was pretty slick looking. Skin was dark, kind of patterned.” He thought of the way the light had reflected off it. “I think I actually saw scales.” It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to remember, being paralyzed on the ground, watching someone get crushed. “Is that enough? Okay?”

Derek ducked his head for a second, then looked back up at Stiles. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think the insufferable asshole actually felt bad about asking. But that was impossible, obviously.

He grunted in anger. “All right, fine. Eyes. Eyes are…um…yellowish? And slitted. It has a lot of teeth. Oh, and it’s got a tail, too.”

They weren’t even paying attention to him anymore, just looking up over his shoulder.

“Are we good?” If he ran, Lydia might still be there. She’d be pissed, but it was better than being stuck here with Derek.

Erica’s eyes were wide, and her mouth opened like she was trying to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Wait, have you seen it? You have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

A quiet hiss from above his head prompted Stiles to turn around. Clinging to the bars of the balcony above them, reflecting wetly in the overnight lights, was the creature. It focused on Stiles’ face and screeched, the same as it had in the shop, only much angrier.

This time, at least, Stiles could move. He stumbled backward, heading for Derek’s side instinctively.

What was it doing here? Why was it staring at Stiles? What’d he done? Did this mean it’d planned to kill Stiles at the garage, and now it was here to finish the job?

The creature leapt down to the ground, and Derek and Erica both crouched in front of Stiles. Derek roared, but the creature didn’t seem to be fazed. Its tail curled around and whipped Erica across the face, then it grabbed her by the hair with a claw and chucked her to the side with so much force that her head left a massive dent in the cinderblock wall, and she slumped to the floor.

Stiles was still watching her slack face when Derek spun, putting his back to the creature and shoving Stiles in the center of his chest. “Run!”

The creature swiped out, and Derek twisted back around, looking around like he wasn’t sure what’d hit him. At the base of his neck was one long scratch. Just like Tucker had had. 

“Derek, your neck!”

As Derek’s hand went to the cut, Stiles dove forward and caught him. It was no gradual loss of movement, like it’d been for Stiles. Derek just collapsed, and Stiles had to take his full weight. Heaving him into his side, Stiles threw Derek’s arm over his shoulder and grabbed onto his waist, pulling him back toward the bridge that divided the two sides of the pool.

He focused on pushing them forward, grateful for even the tiny twitches of Derek’s feet that were keeping him from dragging along the ground. “Where is it? Do you see it?”

“No, just hurry,” Derek panted.

“I’m calling Scott.” Stiles shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled his phone out, only for Derek’s legs to give out completely and trip him up.

His phone went flying, skidding across the rough concrete floor. Stiles tried to follow his own momentum into a bend to retrieve it, but the weight of Derek falling into his side was unexpected, and Stiles wobbled badly for a moment before tipping to his left. Straight into the water.

Stiles had just enough sense to close his mouth before he went under, but he sank quickly with Derek’s one arm around his neck. Wriggling to readjust his position so his legs were no longer tangled with Derek’s, Stiles kicked hard and brought them both back up to the surface. Gasping for air, Stiles tried not to gag.

He hated this, hated everything about the water surrounding him and trying to drag him down. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he whispered, flailing as best he could to keep his head above the ripples they’d caused. There was _so much_ water.

Their struggle had moved them a few feet into the pool, too far away for Stiles to reach his phone, but too close for him to feel safe from the creature.

The way Derek’s head was tilted was nearly drowning him, so Stiles had to adjust again, shoving down his panic and pulling Derek’s back against his chest. He crossed one arm under Derek’s shoulder and over the opposite peck to keep his head above water. It meant Stiles had to sputter everything he said right into Derek’s ear, but at least they could both breathe. “Where’d it go? Where is it? Do you see it?”

“No.”

“Okay, maybe it took off.”

Another screech echoed through the room, and Stiles tried not to flail as he turned his head to search for the source.

Derek spat a little more water out. “Maybe not.”

Stiles’ wiggling didn’t give him a glimpse of the creature, but it did give him a view of sparkly boots at the other end of the pool. “Erica’s still out,” he said. “How is she still knocked out? What happened to werewolf healing?”

Since Derek couldn’t so much as turn his neck, Stiles slowly spun them both until Derek’s face was pointing at Erica’s lax body. The shifting of their bodies dunked Derek’s chin underwater, and he coughed out a mouthful before saying, “If it’s bad enough, it can take a while to heal. Why isn’t it going after her? It’s still here, why is it leaving her alone?”

“What do you mean ‘bad enough?’ Like, internal bleeding? She’s not going to die, is she? Derek, she’s not dead, right?”

“Stiles, shut up a minute. Just be quiet!” Derek snapped.

For a few seconds there was nothing but the splashing of Stiles’ free arm and the gurgle of his kicking legs under the water. His back was beginning to ache from holding Derek up, but every time his hand so much as slipped from where he was holding onto Derek’s ribs, Derek began to slide downward. The bastard didn’t float.

Finally, Derek said quietly, “She’s not dead. I can hear her heart. Okay? But we need to get her the hell out of here.”

If Stiles had any air to spare, he’d laugh. “Her? You’re worried about her? Are you forgetting the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth that went straight for you?”

“It didn’t go for me, it went for you. I was in the way.”

“Oh, _that’s_ reassuring.”

“Stiles, I’m paralyzed from the neck down in eight feet of water! Get me _out_.”

That, Stiles wanted to do. If he could just get back on solid ground, maybe he could actually _think_. With a lot more splashing, Stiles began to move them toward the edge of the pool, toward his phone and dry land. Halfway there, Derek stopped him.

“Wait, wait, wait, stop, stop.” Derek was staring in the direction his face was pointed, but Stiles turned to look anyway.

The shadow appeared first, stretching along the wall and making it look almost like there were two of the monsters. Then came the actual creature, on all fours, in far too much detail for Stiles’ liking. It had hands tipped with claws like Derek’s or Scott’s, but nothing else looked familiar. Even stranger, though it watched the both of them with a keen eye, it didn’t come after them. Instead it just kept walking, right past Erica’s body and around to the midpoint of the pool before turning around and heading the opposite direction. Making half a circuit, never getting too far away.

Stiles shifted. “I—how are we supposed to get out?”

“We don’t. Go back.”

“Derek—”

“Stiles, go back!”

Coughing, Stiles twisted and jellyfished his legs to get them back to their original spot. “What’s it waiting for?”

“Erica!” Derek shouted. “Wake up!”

With a small cry, Stiles slapped his hand over Derek’s mouth. About a second later he had to take it off again to paddle, but he berated Derek anyway. “Don’t call attention to her!”

Derek growled. “If you ever do that again, I’ll bite your fingers off. She needs to wake up before it attacks again.”

“If it were going to attack her, it would have already. It’s not interested in her for some reason. She’s safer unconscious.” Stiles’ lost momentum for silencing Derek sent his ears under the surface, and he had to shake his head to clear them and hear Derek’s answer.

“It’s not like it understands me.”

“Are you kidding? That thing knew how to operate a car lift so it could crush a guy to death instead of using its _very_ sharp claws. We don’t know _what_ it understands.”

More growling. “What are we supposed to do then? Wait?”

Stiles pursed his lips and forced himself to say, “Yes.”

He lasted an entire five minutes. Or maybe it was ten minutes. Hell, it could have been half an hour, but there were no clocks in the room that Stiles could actually see, and his internal clock had never been very reliable. He needed some kind of distraction from the urge to scream and kick and drag them both back to the precious floor a dozen feet away.

“So, while I have you here…” he said. It was hard to look nonchalant when Derek could neither see him, nor feel him, if his paralysis was like Stiles’ had been, so Stiles just attempted a shrug as he slapped his hand back into the water. It’d been seven years since he went swimming, and his technique sucked.

“ _What_.”

“You know, monotone speech is really hard for me to focus on—if you could actually use some inflection, I feel like our conversations would be much easier for me,” Stiles spluttered. “I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but I need to talk to you about Lydia.”

It seemed that since Derek was incapable of flashing his eyes at Stiles or using any claws to shut Stiles up, he was leaning heavily on his last remaining intimidation tactic. More growling. “How many times do I have to tell you that we aren’t telling your girlfriend anything?”

This time, Stiles’ spluttering was only twenty percent because of the water getting in his nose and making him want to vomit. “We aren’t dating! Who told you that? Was it Boyd? He’s mad at me cus’ I told Erica he liked her. Don’t trust him.”

“Don’t talk about my Betas. Don’t talk _to_ my Betas. I thought I made myself clear.”

The easiest way to get Derek to stop growling and making his already sore shoulder go fuzzy, was for Stiles to shut up. He focused for a while on kicking, on finding a rhythm that kept them from dipping too low in the water, without making his thighs scream.

He felt a little bad about it, but focusing on Derek’s weight against his chest was probably the only thing keeping him from outright panicking. He wasn’t alone in the water, wasn’t being pushed down into it. Derek might not be able to move, but he was still _there_. Just so long as Stiles could feel the heat of him and the thump of his heart under Stiles’ palm, then he could keep himself calm.

Some time later, Stiles was jerked from his concentration by another hiss as the creature came to a stop on the edge of the pool that was closest to them. It glared at them, or at least Stiles thought it looked like a glare, and put one hand out as though it was finally going to come into the water to finish them off.

The instant its hand got wet, the creature hissed again and backed all the way up to the wall.

“Wait, did you see that?” Stiles asked. But, of course Derek hadn’t seen it, his head had fallen to the side. “I don’t think it can swim.”

“What do you mean it can’t swim? Why not?” Derek spat. “Isn’t it a reptile? Reptiles swim.”

Stiles’ fuse was getting shorter by the minute as the pain in his limbs got worse. “You know, if you weren’t fucking paralyzed right now, I’d punch you. I don’t _know_ why it can’t swim. It’s got fancy venom claws, I don’t think it’s a normal reptile, Derek.”

His own annoyance set Derek off. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“Well your uncle certainly seemed to think so.”

If Derek could have gone stiff, he definitely would have. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Peter, in his infinite creepiness, somehow knew that I was supposed to be the man with the plan. I _told_ you, Lydia getting attacked was my fault. Peter attacked her to get to me, because he knew I could get to _you_. It was a whole thing.” At least with his body paralyzed, Derek wouldn’t be able to rip Stiles’ throat out for hanging out with his uncle.

Silence was Derek’s only response, so Stiles just kept talking. At least it distracted him from how heavy his arms were becoming. Lacrosse didn’t require so much upper body strength. “We had some great bonding, the two of us. He forced me to drive him to an underground parking lot, slammed me into a car, offered me the bite, bent the keys—”

“He _what_?”

Stiles continued as though Derek hadn’t spoken. “—to my Jeep, and I had to hold a computer bag that was all wrapped up in a dead woman’s arms. That nurse? Yeah, she’s dead now. And I have seen more than my fair share of dead bodies recently, and she did _not_ look right.”

“Stiles! Stop being obtuse. Peter offered you the bite? He _offered_ it?”

Finally, Stiles stopped dodging. “Yeah. He said I’d been useful, so he offered me the bite. Can you guess what my answer was?”

Derek didn’t answer, and Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say, so they lapsed into more silence.

Stiles had his limits. Being in the water in the first place was already pushing them. Two hours, as best he could tell, of holding up a werewolf so dense he didn’t float, went above and beyond what he could cope with. He was lagging, no longer treading water, and instead half-drowning the both of them. With every bit of water that found its way into his mouth, his tenuous control frayed that much more.

“Okay, okay, I don’t think I can do this much longer,” he gasped. He hadn’t been able to get a full breath in for the last hour.

As if sensing his intentions, Derek rushed, “No, no, no, don’t even think about it!”

It was Stiles’ turn to growl, as best he could. “Can’t you just trust me this once?”

“If you leave the water, that thing will kill you, Stiles. It was after _you_.”

“Yes, thank you for that reminder. I won’t leave the pool, I’m just going to grab my phone and call Scott for backup.”

Though Stiles couldn’t hear Derek’s growl, he could feel it and he knocked his head against Derek’s. “I’ve been holding you up for the past two hours, Derek. We _need_ his help. Just hold your breath.”

“Stiles, you are _not_ letting me go. If I drown, you are dead. You need me to survive.” Derek’s voice was hard, but the message behind his words set Stiles’ teeth on edge.

It was the same thing he’d told Scott, multiple times. When he thought he was going to be left to die.

“Derek. I’m coming back. It’ll be a couple seconds at most, just hold your fucking breath and I’ll be right back. I promise.”

“No!”

Stiles braced himself against Derek’s shoulders. “Three…Two… _One._ ”

Throwing himself backward, Stiles kicked with what little strength he had left and prayed that Derek had taken in a deep breath. Halfway to his precious phone, the creature appeared, probably attracted by Stiles’ extra exuberant splashing.

This thing was definitely intelligent. Its head tilted toward Stiles’ phone immediately, and then the race was on. Stiles sent a wave of water over the lip of the pool as he reached out and snagged the cell, and the surprise wetness gave him just enough time to swim backward out of reach. Opening up a call to Scott took a few slippery taps of his fingers. Stiles could only hope that whatever water damage he’d done to it wouldn’t set in until he’d finished his call.

It’d only rung twice when the line picked up. Stiles didn’t waste any time. “Scott!”

_“I can’t talk right now.”_

The line clicked off, and Stiles stared. Already his phone was fritzing, the screen flashing odd colors. Scott had hung up on him and Stiles wasn’t going to get another chance to call him. Derek had already been underwater for at _least_ thirty seconds. Grunting, Stiles chucked his phone in the vague direction of the edge of the pool. If it didn’t shatter, maybe it would make it.

He didn’t want to do this, tearing up from more than just chlorine as he looked down into the water. It was like he was living in a nightmare, only he wasn’t the one who was about to die. Derek was the one drowning here, not Stiles.

He dove down, his eyes burning and his lungs screaming for air as though he were the one who’d been sitting at the bottom of the pool. Derek was on his back, eyes closed, hair floating just above his head. Stiles reached out for what was closest to him, snagging the front of Derek’s shirt and pulling him up into his arms, holding him in a hug to get enough leverage to kick off from the bottom.

As they broke the surface, Stiles got at least a moment of relief when Derek immediately started gasping for air. He wasn’t dead, Stiles hadn’t killed him. And Stiles wasn’t dead, so they were two for two.

“Tell me you got him,” Derek gasped.

Stiles couldn’t answer. He just struggled for breath and shifted Derek back into their original position, so at least Derek wasn’t shoved up against Stiles as much. It had to be hell for a guy that hated being touched _period_ to have to be carried for hours on end. Who knew how much longer they would have to keep waiting?

He’d lost the ability to even be scared, by the time Derek perked up. “Stiles,” he said. “Look.”

For once, it wasn’t a terrible thing that Stiles had to look at. Erica was waking up.

“Erica, go!” Stiles didn’t dare speak above a normal tone. “Get out of here! Get help.”

Erica herself definitely wouldn’t be up to the task of fighting the creature, since she began to move to the door on all fours, swaying and jolting as though she were still half asleep.

Hope of being saved gave Stiles a quick burst of energy, but he was still running on empty. With every minute that passed, the thought of just letting himself sink, just for a little while, until his legs stopped burning and screaming and his arms stopped feeling like they were being pulled out of his sockets, got more and more appealing. He just wanted to close his eyes, maybe drink something to soothe his itchy throat.

He nearly went down a couple times, only remembering at the last second to keep kicking when Derek’s hair began to float as his head sank and the strands poked at Stiles’ neck. He wasn’t staying up for _himself_ , he was staying up for Derek.

By the time Stiles got up the will to speak again, he was fighting back more tears. “I can’t stay up any longer. I need something to hold on to.”

It was risky, going over to the diving boards. Technically it was enough of a bridge that the creature could get at him. But Stiles didn’t have another choice.

The small break for his legs was too little, too late, and Stiles could only keep his grip for a few seconds. He went down right next to Derek, no air in his lungs to keep him buoyant and one arm still clamped around Derek’s chest.

He’d tried.

This time, he’d gotten so _close_. He’d fought back. But it still wasn’t enough.

Letting his eyes close was bliss, and if he could just get his lungs to stop feeling so tight, it would all be okay. His head felt like it was going to explode, and he just needed to breathe for a _second_. Last time it’d helped so much when he finally opened his mouth and just let the water in, why couldn’t he make himself do it again?

The hand that gripped the back of Stiles’ track jacket was not gentle as it yanked him up out of the water, and Stiles went flying. He hit the concrete with a solid smack on the back of his skull, and the world just reverberated for a little while.

Somewhere, there was a loud, deep roar, even deeper than Derek, but not quite as soul-vibrating.

For a couple seconds, Stiles’ legs twitched, trying to keep him afloat, but there was no water to kick through. The impact was enough to force him into a cough, but he didn’t black out and no water filled his lungs. Just the same thick air he’d been breathing for the last few hours.

Something shattered nearby, and then there was another hiss. A few moments later, something much bigger shattered. Splashes sounded out in a bunch of places.

“Stiles!” Erica shouted.

Stiles coughed, “Get Derek,” with as much authority as he could muster while his brain was still coming back online.

He got another few seconds of rest before hands grabbed at his arms.

“Derek—” he wheezed.

“Derek’s fine,” Boyd huffed. “Erica’s got him. Can you stand?”

In answer, Stiles stood up, then promptly fell into Boyd. His legs were like gelatin or silly string. “Is it cool if I pass out?” he asked.

“What happened to Derek?”

“Paralyzed. Dunno why it hasn’t worn off yet. It only lasted like ten minutes when I got slimed.”

With Boyd doing the vast majority of the work, Stiles made his way out of the pool room and away from the poisonous liquid and air that filled it. Never. Stiles was never going near this room again. He _refused_.

The rush of icy wind that hit Stiles’ soaked body as the front door to the school opened was a whole new kind of unpleasant. “Why are we going out here?”

“To get away from the lizard that attacked you guys.”

“It was after me, or so Derek keeps reminding me.”

“Shut up,” came Derek’s voice from the right. Stiles drooped his head over to see Derek actually sitting up of his own accord on the curb, Erica crouched next him as close as she dared.

Boyd led Stiles over and let him slither to the ground at Erica’s other side, clearly trying to keep the peace by separating Stiles from Derek. Stiles was fine with that. He’d spent way too much time with Derek tonight, and would happily never have to get that close to him again.

There was no embarrassment when he tipped to his empty side and coughed up more water onto the pavement. Nor when it was followed by a few tears that he was too tired to wipe away. As the fresh air and cold weather sharpened Stiles’ mind, he looked around the empty parking lot. It wasn’t empty.

For one, Derek’s car was parked at the very back, in a place that probably would have been well hidden if there were any other cars. For another, Scott’s mom’s car was in the pickup lane.

She’d told them on the way to the game that she had a shift after it was over, which meant…

“Scott!” Stiles cried, jolting up on unsteady legs. “Scott’s inside the school.”

Boyd hauled at Stiles’ arm, tugging him back from his doddering weave toward the door. “What are you doing? I’ve been looking for you guys for two hours, you’re not going anywhere.”

“But Scott’s inside, what if _he’s_ looking for us? That thing could come back.”

“Then I’ll go look. You, stay here,” Boyd warned.

Derek stood up too, jerky but insistent. “I’ll go with him.”

Raising a hand to gesture, Stiles scoffed. “You can barely move, Derek.”

Was it possible for Stiles to have missed getting those eyes flashed at him in just a few hours time? It was much easier to argue with Derek when Stiles wasn’t worried about keeping him from drowning.

“Guys!” Erica yelled, cutting them all off and pointing. “Look.”

Stiles turned his head, along with Derek and Boyd, to see Scott half-jogging out of the school. His rush looked more to do with the cord dangling from his hand than any danger. At the sight of Stiles and the others, Scott swerved over in their direction. He slowed down a dozen feet away, nose scrunching as a sharp breeze blew past them. “Stiles, what’re you doing with them?” he asked, “And why do you stink? Were you in the pool?”

Derek’s form appeared at Stiles’ side, shouldering his way in between Stiles and Scott. “You should have answered your phone.”

Standing was much easier said than done at the moment, so when Stiles tried to step forward, he stumbled hard enough that Erica came up and pulled his arm over her shoulder. Then Boyd went to stand at Derek’s side, until Stiles couldn’t even _see_ Scott.

“What’re you doing? What happened?” Scott asked. “Stiles?”

With a lot more effort than he wanted to admit, Stiles pushed away from Erica and stumbled over to Scott’s side, facing Derek and his pack in time to see Boyd shake his head and Derek’s eyes flash red again.

“I’m fine, Scott. How did you know we were here?”

“I didn’t. I came to get the keys.” He held up the key ring that Stiles had left in the doorknob to Gerard’s office. “Allison said that the bestiary must be on this thumbdrive, not in a book.”

Stiles looked down at the little black square dangling from the keys. That was it? The entire history of Argent information on the supernatural was in that little thing? Just like with Peter and the laptop, Stiles was kind of underwhelmed.

Then again, if he were overwhelmed right now, Stiles might just pass out. “Okay, so let’s see if she’s right. I stashed my laptop in your car so I could copy down some stuff from the book, but this is better.”

“Stiles,” Erica called.

He turned to look at her as Scott headed toward the car. There were a couple tear tracks running down her cheeks, but she didn’t say anything else.

Stiles swayed. There was no way to win here. He wanted to go check on her, make sure she’d healed properly, but Derek wouldn’t allow it. But it wasn’t fair of him to leave either, not to Boyd and Erica at least. “I’ll—uh…” he glanced over at Derek, at his crossed arms, how he’d moved to shield his Betas from Stiles. “Nevermind.”

Scott’d already pulled Stiles’ bag from the backseat when Stiles caught up to him, and in a few seconds Stiles had the document open. It was hundreds of pages, written in some kind of hideous font that made Stiles nearly go cross-eyed. The words were both familiar and unintelligible, catching his attention like he was _supposed_ to know it, but without being anything he could actually read. What the hell was a “Theobaldus” anyway? “Is that even a language?”

“How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?” Scott groaned, flicking through a couple pages.

“It’s called the Kanima.” Derek and his pack had followed them over to the vehicle, Boyd and Erica framing his soggy shoulders like bookends.

Stiles squinted at him. “You knew the whole time?”

“No, only when it was confused by its reflection in the mirror Boyd was holding.”

Mirror? Was that what had shattered?

“It doesn’t know what it is,” Boyd said.

“Or who,” Derek added.

“What else do you know?” Stiles asked. If they could just find its weakness.

Derek shook his head. “Just stories, rumors. Nothing concrete.”

Where would Derek have heard those rumors? Did his family tell him bedtime stories about the big bad kanima? When Stiles thought of how much information was lost in the fire that wiped out the Hales, the knowledge hoarder within him ached. Peter had seemed to know a lot too, about wolves and all that shifting “up” and “down.” Like there was an entire culture around them, which would make sense. But he’d burned too. All they had left was Derek, who apparently only knew fragments.

Stiles winced as Scott asked, “But it’s like us?”

Unfazed, Derek answered, “A shapeshifter, yes, but it’s—it’s not right. It’s like a…”

“Abomination,” Stiles finished. He’d looked into the kanima’s eyes a few times, seen the intelligence of it and at the same time the complete lack of self. There was something _wrong_ with it that made it unlike any werewolf Stiles had seen, Peter included.

The look Derek gave him was hard to decipher. Something about what Stiles had said had shocked him, but what? For a split second, the constant tension on Derek’s face whenever he looked at Stiles faded, and he nodded softly in agreement.

Having imparted his limited wisdom, Derek, Erica, and Boyd turned to leave. Scott stopped them and said words Stiles had been dying to hear for months. 

“Derek,” Scott said, “we need to work together on this.”

Then, just to ruin it all again, he added, “Maybe even tell the Argents.”

If telling the Argents were even an iota of a good plan, Allison would have mentioned it. Stiles would have suggested it himself, if he thought they could do it without alerting Gerard to Scott’s wolfness. They wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble to get the damn bestiary if it were safe to tell the Argents. It _wasn’t_.

“You _trust_ them?” Derek asked, instantly hard and furious again.

Scott snapped, going straight to a shout. “Nobody trusts _anyone!_ That’s the problem! While we’re here arguing about who’s on what side, there’s something scarier, stronger, and faster than any of us and it’s killing people! And we still don’t even know anything about it!”

How could Scott say the truth, yet be so oblivious to it? Of _course_ the lack of trust was the problem, but it had nothing to do with the Argents. They could have found out what the kanima was ages ago if Scott had agreed to work with Derek, had stopped bitching about Derek building a pack. How could he say that the Argents were worth trusting, when he’d been arguing with Stiles about them murdering Boyd, Erica, and Isaac since the beginning? Those were the people he wanted to trust?

Stiles was sick at even the thought of telling Chris, let alone Gerard, about the Betas, and he didn’t even care if it was the pack bond making him feel that way. It wasn’t going to happen.

Derek looked how Stiles felt. “I know one thing,” he said, turning to leave again. “When I find it, I’m gonna kill it.”

They stormed away to the Camaro and Stiles watched it peel out of the lot as Scott stood beside him and fumed. Stiles couldn’t bring himself to do the same, whoever the anger was directed at. He was too tired.

“Dude, can I get a ride home?”

“Sure. Man, I didn’t even know you could swim.”

“I can. I just don’t.”

* * *

Even after taking Boyd and Erica home, filling Isaac in on what’d happened and what they’d learned, and taking an ice cold shower in the pathetic stall at the depot, Derek couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t so much as lay down, or sit. He’d been still for so long, now he just kept twitching, checking that he even _could_.

Derek checked on Isaac—who was just sitting in his room with a book—three times before midnight, then drove over to Erica and Boyd’s homes to check on them as well, before giving up and going to his last possible distraction.

There were two cars outside the Stilinski household. To the side, in front of the garage, was the sheriff’s cruiser. Then, sloppily parked at the front, was Stiles’ Jeep. Now that Derek’s nose had finally recovered from the chlorine, he could smell another painfully strong cleaner at the front of the vehicle, near the bottom.

The guy at the garage had been crushed by a car lift, Stiles had said. If Stiles’ car had been taken as evidence, was it actually _on_ the lift? Derek wrinkled his nose at the thought of blood splattering onto the blue paint as the lift hit its target. And Stiles had watched it happen.

Speaking of Stiles, Derek didn’t even have to climb onto the roof to hear Stiles’ heart in his bedroom. He was out cold, which was the least of what he deserved. How was it possible that _that_ twiggy little human had saved Derek’s life tonight?

Technically, it was his fault Derek got paralyzed in the first place, since the kanima had been after Stiles. But he’d still kept Derek from drowning for over two hours, holding them both up in the water. Perhaps that was what Peter had seen in him, that he bothered to _offer_ the bite rather than just force it.

It’d been disturbing, listening to Stiles’ heart pound faster and faster as he pushed himself to stay up, then hearing it begin to slow again as they sank below the surface. Derek was there mentally, completely present, just unable to do anything or feel anything except uncomfortable pressure everywhere Stiles was holding him up. He couldn’t help, or even tilt his head above the water to think of something to keep Stiles awake. If Boyd hadn’t pulled them out when he did, Derek would have had to listen to Stiles die in the water before he himself drowned.

Derek shuddered.

What had Stiles said, before the kanima showed up? Something about his Jeep being wrecked? It looked normal, if generally pretty crappy.

On a hunch, Derek walked over to the driver’s side door and pulled on the latch. It was sticky, but it popped open. A set of keys was wedged above the sun visor.

Derek didn’t have a particular reason for popping the hood and going over to look at the engine. He just needed to keep moving, to keep his hands working and remind himself that his body _would_ do what he told it to.

Going through the motions of checking fluid levels and even a basic examination told Derek that Stiles’ car was indeed wrecked. It was ancient in the first place, and looked to be functioning on the bare minimum, as though things only got fixed once they actually stopped it from running. Duct tape covered some cracked tubes and held others in place, while worn parts that had clearly been bought secondhand technically kept it driveable, except for the lack of an actual starter. It was a powder blue deathtrap.

The more he checked, the worse it got, until Derek was just filled with a sick curiosity to know _everything_ that was wrong with the car.

There was a nearly unused skateboard shoved into the back of the Jeep, and Derek pulled it out, then laid down on it and slid himself under the high car. He didn’t need a flashlight to see how there were about a dozen bolts and screws gone, leaving Stiles’ exhaust system hanging out. His catalytic converter was downright missing, and there were brake pads and lines that had probably needed replaced months ago.

To get this repaired in a shop all at once, Stiles would need serious money. The parts themselves were mostly cheap, but the labor would be outrageously expensive.

Derek had gotten back to his car and grabbed a cloth from the trunk to clean his hands off before he realized he’d already made a decision. He was going to fix Stiles’ car.

It was the only logical thing to do. If nothing else, Stiles was good for getting rides without looking suspicious. If he couldn’t get around for the next month, it would only make things harder on Derek if he decided he needed him for something. Besides, Derek hated being indebted to anyone, especially a human. This way he wouldn’t owe Stiles anything, and the brat couldn’t use it against him in the future.

This late at night, it wasn’t as though Derek could go pick up the parts he needed from another mechanic. Instead, he went to the nearest gas station and picked up actual windshield wiper fluid, along with coolant, engine, and transmission fluid, and a funnel. There was a twenty-four hour department store that he could pick up tools and other equipment at, but it was risky to go somewhere so public. Derek slipped in and out of the building as quickly as possible, grateful that the late hour meant it was mostly empty.

He filled what could be filled and rebolted the exhaust system, which was just a little rusty, back into place. It took him until dawn.

The sound of someone yawning shot Derek’s attention toward the house, and he only managed to get out of sight because Sheriff Stilinski struggled to get his key into the front door to relock it. Cursing softly, the sheriff shuffled around the house to his cruiser and drove off. After a quick check that Stiles was still asleep, Derek headed for his own car again. He had parts to pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's from the start of the chapter, but that hand shaking/flicking thing Dylan did with the ambulance scene? That was fucking amazing acting, and it gave so much more depth to Stiles' mindset.  
> Also, that thing about "I think you're beautiful when you cry" bothered me so much. Lydia shouldn't _have_ to be beautiful when she's crying. She's fucking _crying_. So, I changed it.  
> And I'm forever salty that they showed Erica getting knocked out and then never brought her up again until she suddenly appeared next to Derek outside the school. Same with Boyd being missing.  
> Fun fact that the show might have actually intended: The single look we get at the bestiary pages _does_ have the word "Theobaldus" on it. Theobaldus was an Abbot at the Abbey of Monte Cassino in Rome. He was known for writing a 'bestiary' on _normal_ animals. At the time he was writing, all 'important' literature was written in Latin, instead of Italian (the language of the common people), so there's a good chance that the pages we see (except the part about the kanima from when Morrell translates) are just pictures of his actual bestiary. Yes, I took the time to attempt to read the screen (I took three years of Latin in college), and subsequently did the research to find Theobaldus. There's a reason these chapters take so long to write.


	5. Episode 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. I have...NO explanation for why this is so late. I love you. I'm sorry. <3 <3 Here you go! <3

“You bit _Jackson_?” Erica cried, eyes slitted with fury. “That asshole is part of our pack?”

Isaac put his hands up in indignation. “I’m not the oldest? Damn it!”

“Boyd is an entire year older than you, Isaac. So is Stiles,” Erica reminded him.

“I meant the oldest werewolf.”

Derek turned to Boyd, who hadn’t spoken yet from his perch on his claimed shipping box. So far, he was definitely Derek’s favorite. “You have something you want to say, too?” he asked.

Shrugging, Boyd just said, “I just wanna know why we can’t feel him.”

“He’s not pack,” Derek explained. “He asked for the bite the same night I became an Alpha, and I wasn’t…I wasn’t capable of saying no. I told all of you, the bite can kill. I thought it’d killed him. Apparently it didn’t, but he refused to be part of the pack, so there’s no bond. I think he’s the kanima.”

That got Isaac to stop pouting. “Seriously? Are you sure?”

“No, that’s why we need some way to check. A test.”

“What about that stuff that it used on you and Stiles?” Erica asked, crossing her arms. “If this thing is really a reptile, then maybe that’s its venom. Snakes aren’t supposed to be poisoned by their own venom, so if Jackson’s the kanima, then it shouldn’t work on him, right?” Derek stared at Erica until she blushed. “Can’t a girl have a hobby?”

Boyd looked positively smitten, and he smelled that way too. “Your hobby is snakes?”

“Totally. Do you know how badass I would look with a snake for a pet? I’d wear it like a necklace every day. I even have names picked out.”

“That’s enough,” Derek interrupted. “How are we supposed to get a sample to use on him?”

It was Boyd’s turn to be useful. “I almost fell in the stuff at the pool, it was all over the floor. I think it like…secretes it or something.”

Isaac jumped up from his seat and grinned. “I’ll go get it!”

“Like hell you will. You’re still a fugitive.” Derek wasn’t willing to risk Isaac getting arrested again. 

“I haven’t left this train station in _days_ , Derek. It’s Sunday, no one will be there.”

“I said _no_. If you get arrested, I can’t get you out again!”

“Stiles could.”

Taken aback, Derek gritted his teeth. As he looked around, suddenly none of his Betas could meet his eye. “Is that what this is about? You want to go see Stiles? He’s not pack, Isaac.” At the snort that could only come from Erica, Derek spun to stare at her. “You think he is? You saw him walk away from us on Friday. Scott left him for dead and Stiles went right back to him as soon as he showed up. If he were pack, he would have stayed.”

“Not with you growling at him all the time,” Boyd sniped.

“Enough!” Derek shouted. He stormed into his room and grabbed his car keys, along with a pair of gloves from his meager supply of clothes. “Erica, you’re coming with me. Boyd, Isaac, stay.”

A small chorus of annoyed, “Woof”s followed Derek out of the building. If Derek had a least favorite thing about bitten wolves versus born wolves, besides everything, it was the dog jokes.

As soon as Erica plopped down in the passenger seat of the car, her demeanor relaxed from its huffy frustration, and she began to poke at her nails. “Why is it that if I paint my claws and then retract them, my nails stay painted, but if I paint my _nails_ and then grow them, the nail polish breaks off? I keep having to redo them!”

“If you stopped popping claws every time you got annoyed, you wouldn’t have that problem,” Derek muttered.

He squeezed lightly at the steering wheel when Erica just laughed. How did she do that? Just, flip a switch and decide she was in a good mood?

“Hey, Derek?”

Derek sighed. “What?”

“Who’s Peter?”

The car swerved a little as Derek jerked. “Where did you hear that name?”

No response was a bad response, Derek glanced over to see Erica biting her lip as anxiety filled the car. He resisted the urge to rub at his forehead. “Stiles told you.”

“Only a little. We were asking him about the bond…” Erica whispered.

“It’s not safe. He isn’t safe.”

“You sound like Stiles.”

“What?”

Erica played with a piece of her hair, braiding tiny sections of it, then unbraiding them again. “He wants us to leave him alone too, so you don’t get pissed. And so Scott doesn’t get pissed. You keep yelling at us about him being dangerous, but he’s the one trying to protect us.”

In order to avoid having yet another argument, Derek did something he never thought he’d do. He turned the conversation back to his homicidal, dead uncle. “What do you want to know about Peter?”

“Were you close?”

Derek couldn’t help his wince, much as he tried.

“Sorry,” Erica said softly. “My grandma died last year, and I didn’t get to go to the funeral because I was in the hospital after a really bad seizure.”

The unprompted information actually made it slightly easier for Derek to say, “We were close before the fire.”

While he’d thought ahead enough to bring gloves, Derek realized as soon as they walked up to the side of the pool, where thick handprints of goo marked the spot the kanima had been crouching, that he had nothing to carry it in. He ended up grabbing another shard of mirror, and simply dipping its side into the viscous fluid.

“Derek, did you hear that?” Erica asked. She was leaned up against the doorway to the hall, keeping watch, and her head was ticked to the side as she focused.

Once his ears got past the swishing of the pool water through the drains, Derek could hear it.

_“No! I said don’t help me!”_

_“Don’t help you as in, don’t spot you? Or don’t help you as in, let the bar crush your throat?”_

Erica grinned like a cat. “Can I go get him?”

As often as he argued with her, Derek wasn’t very good at telling her no. “Don’t get caught. And Erica?”

“Yeah?”

“Be _careful_ with him.”

If Jackson was the kanima, Derek would be happy to let her rough him up, but they didn’t know for sure yet. He might just be an extremely obnoxious human that was somehow immune to the bite like Lydia.

Erica’s face shone when she met him out at the car, practically dragging Jackson along behind her. It was painful, how much she reminded him of Laura. Rather than deal with that, Derek climbed in the front seat and waited for her to push Jackson into the back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jackson snapped, scrambling up out of the sprawl he’d landed in. “You can’t just kidnap me!”

“Erica, you didn’t tell him what we want?”

“Oops.”

Derek wasn’t stupid. He knew that just getting the bite wasn’t enough to make Erica’s or Isaac’s lives perfect. Isaac was coming out of his shell with claws out, taking a chunk out of anyone he thought might try to drag him down like his father had. Erica’s issues were with pretty much her entire peer group. Especially people like Jackson. Derek just hoped that if she got some of that poison out of her, she’d calm down, but they’d yet to reach that point.

“What can I say?” he drawled in the rearview mirror. “She gets excited. We just want to talk to you, Jackson. That’s all.”

He had to admit, he could see the appeal. It was pretty funny to listen to Jackson fume and complain in the backseat, especially once Derek threatened to throw his phone out the window if he tried to call the cops.

Erica’s grip on him as they headed down to join the others was like she was holding a kitten. Both careful, as per Derek’s instructions, and immovable.

Once they hit the bottom of the steps, Isaac came up and grabbed at Jackson’s arm. “Hi there, I hear you had a really interesting conversation with the sheriff during the last full moon.”

Jackson’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head at the sight of Isaac and Boyd, so Derek cut to the chase.

“What happened to you on the night of the full moon?”

“What? Nothing,” Jackson said. “Nothing happened.”

The drive over had been enough to calm Jackson’s heart, so when it jumped on his words, Derek knew what it meant. “You’re lying.”

His words sent Jackson into a panic, “No, wait, I can prove it! I taped myself.”

Isaac lit up like a Christmas tree. “You—you _taped_ yourself?”

“Yes,” Jackson spit. “It was the full moon, and maybe while you were curled in the corner having an existential crisis about turning into a monster, I was preparing for the so-called gift that your big, bad Alpha promised me! And what did I get?” Derek could have sworn Jackson finally understood how to talk to werewolves, because he took a breath and looked Derek in the eye. “Nothing. You want proof? Let me get the video.”

If they let him go, it wasn’t as though he could be trusted to go home and get his little video alone. Derek would have to send someone with him, and wait for them to return. Besides, there was that jump in his heart to worry about. “No,” Derek finally sighed, pulling out the shard of mirror with a gloved hand. “I have a better idea.”

“What is that—” Jackson was cut off as Erica elbowed him between the shoulder blades and sent him to his knees.

“He’ll need to ingest it,” Erica offered. “If we cut him it’ll still affect him.”

After a nod to Isaac so he would pull Jackson’s jaw down, Derek let a single drop of venom drip off the end of the glass, into his mouth.

As one, Erica and Isaac dropped Jackson and came over to Derek’s sides to join Boyd, leaving Jackson to scramble away from them.

The venom had worked nearly instantly on Derek. He’d felt only the barest pressure on his neck, then it was like his entire body went numb. There were only a few seconds after getting cut that he could force his legs to move along the floor, and then that was gone too. Jackson, however, seemed fine.

He retreated to the stairs, coughing. “What was that? What did you just do to—” His face twisted into a look of confusion, and he coughed again. “What…” he muttered thickly. One hand came up to cover his mouth as his eyes widened.

It was with both relief and disappointment that Derek watched Jackson slowly sink down to the floor and go still. There went that theory. But on the other hand, it meant Derek didn’t have to kill him. He walked up to Jackson and crouched down to look him in the eyes, the one part of him that seemed to be working properly. “You’re still a snake Jackson, just not the one we’re looking for.”

“How are we supposed to get him home?” Boyd pointed out, always asking the important questions. “Didn’t it take hours to wear off on you?

“Help me get him into the train car to wait it out, then I’ll take the two of you home. Isaac, you sit with him, make sure he doesn’t choke on his own tongue or something.” This time, Isaac didn’t look too put out at being left home. In fact, he looked delighted to have some quality time with a Jackson who couldn’t talk. Derek paused at the foot of the steps while Boyd grabbed his backpack. “Isaac. Behave.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not my dad yet,” Isaac drawled as he draped himself over Erica’s shoulder for a hug.

Derek returned ten minutes later to the sound of Isaac’s game pinging and Jackson muttering again, albeit clumsily. How had the venom worn off so soon?

“You want me to lie to the cops?”

“Yup.”

“It’s not my fault you killed your dad, dude, I’m not…I’m…okay.”

“Isaac, put them away,” Derek called. Isaac had had more time than the rest to get used to shifting, but almost no social interaction to learn to keep his emotions in check. Maybe leaving him alone with someone as inflammatory as Jackson wasn’t such a good idea.

Another trip to take a sullen and frightened Jackson home, and Derek was starting to get worried. He was spending too much time in the open, with the Argents looking for any excuse to come after him. All of these appearances were only making it easier on them.

Biting the bullet, Derek knocked on Isaac’s door that night. “You’re going to school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, once Jackson clears me I’m home free.” Isaac didn’t look up from his book. For a lacrosse player, he hadn’t shown much interest in exercising at the depot as a fugitive. He just played the single game on Stiles’ D.S unendingly, then worked his way through the books he’d stolen from Stiles’ room.

Derek sighed. “I’m not taking you.”

Isaac looked up then. “What, I have to walk?”

“No. You’re going to get a ride.”

“From who?”

“From Stiles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest in defence as Isaac got up, already readying himself for the lashing out that was coming when Isaac shouted, “What? Did you two kiss and make up or something in the last ten minutes? Didn’t you _just_ say he wasn’t pack?”

Derek growled. “He _isn’t_. But he’s useful. You have to show up with someone they won’t suspect of hiding you for the last week and a half. He’s the son of the sheriff, no one will question it.”

“Wait, does _Stiles_ know about this plan of yours?”

“Not yet.”

* * *

Even after lying immobile in his bed for two days, Stiles’ shoulders and calves screamed at him for getting up on Monday morning. The thought of exposing himself to _more_ water had made his heart pound so badly that it wasn’t until he forced himself under the showerhead that morning that he was able to finally rid himself of the overwhelming scent of chlorine. It’d dried on him in the itchiest of ways and turned his hair to prickly straw. His skin felt like there was a film over it, leaving it tight and nasty.

Admittedly, the hot water helped a lot, enough that Stiles walked into his bedroom without the limp he’d had leaving it. His muscles were even relaxed enough to spasm sharply as he jumped at the sight of Isaac sitting at his desk.

“Are you _nuts?_ ” Stiles hissed, spinning and slamming his door shut. “My dad is still home! Do you want to be arrested? Do you want _me_ to be arrested? What is it with wanted fugitives showing up in my bedroom? You couldn’t have texted me? Did Derek send you? Oh my god, if he sent you to kill me, I’m _so_ going to haunt his ass. Doesn’t even have the decency to kill me himself, what an asshole. And I’m gonna die in the nude? Gross, come on, let me put some shorts on or something. I don’t want my dad to find me dead _and_ naked. Show some mercy.”

Isaac leaned back in the chair and whistled slowly. “Wow. Are you done yet?”

“No!” Stiles snapped. “What are you doing here? And turn around. Locker rooms are locker rooms, but this is my bedroom and I will _not_ change in front of you in my bedroom.”

“Fine, it’s nothing I wanna see anyway.” Isaac spun the chair, and Stiles dove for his dresser.

As he pulled on clothing over his wet skin, Stiles listened to Isaac’s pointless explanation.

“I need a ride to school.”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, right. You wanna borrow my handcuffs while you’re at it? Maybe go sit in my dad’s cruiser and wait for him to take you to the station himself?”

Standing up, Isaac went over to snoop through Stiles’ bookshelf, probably looking to snag the next one in the Artemis Fowl series. “I’m serious Stiles, I’m gonna get cleared today, which means I get to go to school. I need you to give me a ride.”

With his clothes on, Stiles was feeling a lot more punchy. “And how, exactly, do you know you’re getting cleared? My dad hasn’t mentioned any new evidence.”

“Because Jackson’s gonna tell your dad he didn’t see me fighting with my dad. Derek says that’s the only reason they’re still going after me. Without Jackson’s testimony it all falls apart, right?”

“But why would Jackson—oh my god, you guys didn’t.” Stiles rubbed his hands over his wet head. “What is Derek’s obsession with Jackson? This is like, what, the third time he’s assaulted the guy?”

Isaac looked a little affronted at that, defensive even. “We didn’t hurt him. I mean, we paralyzed him for a little while, but that’s all. Besides, can you blame Derek for being pissed that Jackson took the bite and then just ran off? He was supposed to be pack and instead the coward bailed.”

Stiles froze, then dropped his hands to his sides and stepped up into Isaac’s space, looking him in the eye. “What did you just say?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’ Derek bit Jackson? When? How? Why? Derek doesn’t like Jackson, why the hell would he give him the bite when it means so much?”

Face pale, Isaac stepped back a little. “You didn’t know? I figured you’d have been there, like you were with me. He said he couldn’t say no, something about it being the same night he became an Alpha. Was I not supposed to tell you?”

“Clearly _not_ ,” Stiles spat. “Clearly, Derek really doesn’t want me to know literally _anything_. He—I joined his stupid pack on one condition, that he not go around attacking people, and there was—that was blood on his face and it was Jackson’s. That fucking bastard lied to me.”

Isaac was inching away, eyes trained on Stiles’ face even as his hands reached for the wall behind him. When Stiles saw what he was doing, he frowned. “Hey, woah, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, shit. Isaac, I wasn’t trying to—hold on, okay? I’m sorry.” Stiles backed up and sat on the bed, hands fisted in the blankets. Slowly, Isaac’s shoulders relaxed. “I don’t get it. I’m just a human. You could rip me apart.”

Isaac’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding? Derek would kill me. We aren’t supposed to hurt humans.”

That, Stiles couldn’t stand for. He stood up again and reached out for Isaac, palms splayed so he didn’t look intimidating, even though he wasn’t sure how _he_ could be intimidating. Erica and Boyd had said…well, it’d helped them, so maybe? Stiles got a grip on Isaac’s shoulder and tugged him into a careful hug.

It was weird. As well adjusted as Erica seemed, Stiles really couldn’t get over hugging near strangers. Hugs were for his dad, Scott, and Heather. Not even the little nudge that his pack bond apparently gave him was enough to change that. But it worked wonders with Isaac. “Dude, you stink of chlorine.”

“Still? I just fucking showered.”

“The room smells too.”

“Oh, shut up. Where is my sympathy? I nearly drowned.” Stiles was mortified at the vulnerability that snuck into his voice near the end.

Isaac suddenly squeezed Stiles tight, knocking the breath out of him, then backed up. He looked better, at least.

Stiles couldn’t think of a way to say what he wanted without coming across like a total parent, but it still needed said, so he just cracked a few of his fingers and pushed through it. “Isaac, you know that rule doesn’t count if someone’s hurting you, right? I don’t care if they’re human, if you’re in danger, get yourself out. Got it? Derek won’t get mad at you for taking care of yourself.”

Isaac shrugged off his words with a huff and went over to the backpack Stiles hadn’t noticed next to the desk. He reached inside and yanked out the missing _Star Wars_ book, then turned to Stiles and held it out. When Stiles reached for it, Isaac lifted it out of his reach and just chucked it at the bed. “Do I get a ride, or not?”

“You’re kind of a dick, you know that?” Stiles asked. But he slung his own backpack over his shoulder. “I just have to figure out how to get you out of the house without my dad seeing you.”

“Oh, your dad’s gone.”

Stiles looked over at the door, then went to the window. The cruiser was missing. “When did he leave?”

“While you were in the shower. I told you, Jackson’s gonna take back his statement, your dad went to talk to him.”

“Again, _dick_.”

Isaac shrugged again and headed for the door, pausing at the last second. “You seriously have handcuffs?”

Stiles blanched. “Uh, not anymore? Scott broke them on his second full moon.”

“ _Dude_.”

“Oh, shut up.”

At the front door, Stiles was putting on his shoes when he realized his predicament. “Uh, I can’t take you to school.”

Isaac frowned at him. “Why not?”

“My car is still messed up. I got a ride from Allison on Friday, and I was going to ask Scott today.”

But Isaac was smiling at him. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

“What? No, Isaac, did you hear me? My car is out of commission. It’s wrecked. It doesn’t even have a starter right now. That mechanic didn’t get a chance to fix it before he died, and I can’t afford to get it towed anywhere else until next month.”

Stiles stared as Isaac pushed open the front door and headed down the walk to his Jeep. Without a care in the world, Isaac tugged open the passenger door and climbed in, then just looked at Stiles through the window.

Swearing, Stiles finished shoving his heel into his shoe and locked the front door before going to join Isaac. It was a lucky guess that Stiles’ door was unlocked. It wasn’t like someone could steal the damn thing in this condition. Stiles muttered to himself, fully aware that Isaac could hear him, “No one fucking listens to me. What am I supposed to do? Make the car float like a magic carpet? I’m the human here, no magic powers for me.”

“Just start the fucking car, Stilinski,” Isaac snorted. “Why does this thing smell like blood?”

“That’d be because Derek bled on the seat your ass is currently on, and bloodstains are a bitch to get out of upholstery this old. It was before your time, puppy.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at Isaac’s little growl and shoved the key into the ignition. “Please enjoy the glorious sound of my car _not_ starting.”

He twisted the key and nearly shouted as the engine rumbled to life almost instantly. It didn’t even sound like his Jeep. There was no sputtering or puff of nasty fumes.

“What the fuck?” Stiles stared at his steering wheel. “What the fuck. Dude, what the _fuck_?”

He yanked on the latch to pop the hood and scrambled out of the car. The instant he lifted the hood up, Stiles exclaimed, yet again, “What the _fuck_? Isaac, what the hell did you do to my car?”

His duct tape was gone, the silvery godsend keeping his engine together replaced by new tubing and shiny parts that weren’t missing pieces or cracked or rusted. All the things that’d been slowly crawling up his list of repairs to save up for were suddenly fixed, and not with the secondhand cheap stuff he usually ordered himself and asked the garage to use, but high quality parts. The kind of thing he wouldn’t need to replace or repair for months, if not years.

It was beautiful.

His baby was fixed. Stiles hadn’t heard her run so well since he was a kid.

Stiles dropped the hood back down and climbed in the front seat again. His dashboard told him more news. His oil wasn’t low, his gas tank was full, and that stupid check engine light was finally off. Stiles’d thought it was just broken like everything else.

Leaning over, Stiles grabbed the side of Isaac’s head and planted a kiss on his temple. “You brought Roscoe back to life, thank you!”

“I didn’t do it. Do I look like I have any money?”

Stiles’ brain came stuttering to a halt. “You—you didn’t? But, who—”

“Guess, genius. Who do we know that literally wouldn’t say sorry if his life depended on it?”

“D—Derek fixed my car?”

Isaac lifted his hands and clapped once, then only went partway to clapping them again. “Congratulations, that deduction earns a clap and a half. Hey, can I not be late on my first day back?”

On autopilot, Stiles pulled out onto the road—minus the usual struggle to shift gears, holy shit—and headed toward the high school.

The Jeep rode smooth, which allowed Stiles to have a complete mental breakdown without worrying about crashing.

Derek had fixed his car. Derek Rip-Your-Throat-Out Hale had fixed Stiles’ car without him even _noticing_. When had Derek had the time? They only got the car back Friday afternoon, and Stiles knew exactly where Derek was for a good portion of that night. How much could it have cost? Stiles had given up trying to parse the price of actually fixing the Jeep any more than the bare minimum ages ago. Every month his allowance went straight to gas, and whatever was left he used on the most urgent repairs. All the extra driving around since werewolves suddenly became a central part of his life had left a lot less money for repairs and it’d only been getting worse.

Stiles was still mad. He could be unendingly grateful and mad at the same time. It was obvious by the total lack of warning that Derek didn’t actually know what he’d done for Stiles. He thought he’d fixed Stiles’ Jeep, not effectively resurrected part of Stiles’ memory of his mother and obliterated Stiles’ anxiety about asking his dad for the money to get the work done. At least Stiles could be sure it wasn’t some tactic to manipulate him.

Unless it was? Did Derek think that if he fixed Stiles’ car, that meant he had to be Derek’s wheels? It didn’t matter that Stiles already basically was, or that he’d happily do it anyway because he wanted to help any way he could. It was the principle of the thing. Stiles wasn’t someone Derek could just buy and use as a school bus for his pack, after warning him away from them in the first place.

Pulling into the parking lot at the school, Stiles looked over at Isaac. “Hey, do me a favor? The next time you see Derek, tell him he’s an asshole.”

“But it’s so much more satisfying when you tell him yourself,” Isaac sighed.

As they climbed out of the car, Stiles looked around at the mass of students heading into the building. No Scott, yet. “Listen, Isaac—”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. Erica and Boyd already filled me in. I’ll make myself scarce while your boyfriend’s around. But you’d better wear _my_ lettermen’s jacket to the dance.”

“First off, it’s Derek’s jacket, and second, if you’re coming to school, why the hell do I still have to wear it? Can’t you just ambush me like Erica and Boyd do?” Stiles paused. “Wait, no, don’t do that. Tell _them_ not to do that.”

Isaac just waved at the appearance of the aforementioned Betas at the door of the building and walked off, calling over his shoulder, “Just wear it.” The crowd of students parted like the Red Sea at Isaac’s appearance, and Erica and Boyd greeted him with arms over his shoulders.

Since Stiles had left Derek’s jacket in his locker to avoid any questions from his dad, it was chlorine free when he slipped it over his shoulders. He looked like he was part of some kind of biker gang with the Betas, since they all had their own version of leather on. Hopefully no one would make the connection as long as he wasn’t seen with them.

Scott caught up with him on the way to first period, plucking at Stiles’ sleeve. “How long is Lydia going to make you wear this?”

“I have no idea,” Stiles answered honestly. Maybe he was doomed to wear the stupid thing for the rest of high school. Or at least until Derek found out he was the one wearing it, not Erica, and killed him for it. Lydia—or rather, Peter’s ghost in Lydia—had said it was Lucas’ jacket. Stiles remembered that name from the obituary in the newspaper he’d studied. Lucas was Derek’s older brother. Stiles felt creepy wearing Derek’s dead brother’s coat.

Scott’s hand grabbed much more firmly at Stiles suddenly, pulling him back out of the doorway to their English classroom. “Stiles, do you see that?”

“See what?”

“He’s here. Isaac’s back at school. Look!”

Down the hall, Isaac was chattering with Erica and Boyd, much more boisterous than he’d been at the depot. Freedom looked good on him. All three wolves turned at Scott’s voice and grinned at them viciously until Scott shoved Stiles into the classroom to get away from them. Stiles could only roll his eyes.

Pushing Stiles into his seat, Scott sat at his own desk and leaned over. “What is he doing here? Why isn’t anyone arresting him?”

“Maybe he got cleared. It’s not like he was guilty.”

“But wouldn’t your dad have told you?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Not really. He’s been working on a bunch of murders lately. He left the house early this morning too.” It was almost frightening how easy it was to lie to Scott. Sure, it hurt, but the words slipped right off Stiles’ tongue. “Now, listen, I only found one thing online called ‘The Kanima.’ It’s a werejaguar from South America that goes after murderers.”

“That thing was not a jaguar,” Scott pointed out.

“Yeah, and I’m not exactly a murderer.”

Nodding, Scott looked down at his desk. “Yeah, but you did _see_ it kill somebody, which is probably why it tried to _kill_ you. And it’s still trying to kill you, and it probably won’t stop until you’re dead.”

Was this payback for Stiles’ rant before Scott’s first game? “You know, sometimes I really begin to question this ‘friendship.’ Why do you have to give me nightmares like that?”

After first period, Stiles honestly expected one of those ambushes while he switched out textbooks before Geometry, but no wolves showed up. He was the tiniest bit grateful, since it meant no one would be jumping on his back, but something felt wrong when his next glimpse of Erica had her face tense and quiet. She didn’t even notice he was in the same hall.

He tried. Honestly, Stiles tried to behave in Geometry. He didn’t want any more of Harris’ detentions to get in the way of his increasingly urgent after-school life. But then Jackson swept into the room and sat behind him and Scott.

“Hey, testicle left and right,” he muttered. Stiles lifted his eyes from the page of his textbook. “What the hell is a kanima?”

Stiles turned with Scott to stare at Jackson just as Harris began to speak.

“In preparation for the midterm, we are going to learn something new. Let’s hope some of you actually manage to pick it up before the test.”

Jackson was still hissing at Scott. “They dragged me underground and paralyzed me. _Paralyzed_ from the neck down, do you have any idea what that feels like?”

“I’m familiar with the sensation,” Stiles sighed. It was a little gratifying when Jackson froze and blinked at him. He hadn’t been expecting that, huh?

“Wait,” Scott whispered. “Why would Derek test you, why would he think that it’s you?”

Stiles knew why.

“How should _I_ know?” Even when complaining, Jackson had some self preservation. He had to know that if Scott found out he’d gotten the bite, he’d lose any and all of Scott’s sympathy.

There was only one other person who’d gotten the bite and not shown any werewolf symptoms. “Wait, does he think it’s Lydia?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson said, earnest. “All I heard was her name, and something about Chemistry.”

“Jackson!” Harris called. He was holding a pile of worksheets and had one eyebrow raised. “I suggest you keep yourself from falling into the same bad habits as Stilinski. I wouldn’t want to have to give you detention.”

Though it made Stiles feel like he was going to vomit, he kept his mouth shut tight and stared down at his textbook. If Derek was going to do something stupid and hurt Lydia, he _couldn’t_ get detention.

The instant Harris’ back was turned, Scott pulled Stiles over to him to whisper in his ear, “How do we know it’s _not_ her?”

“Because I looked into the eyes of that thing, okay? Multiple times. What I saw was pure evil. When I look into Lydia’s eyes I only see fifty percent evil.” He paused. “Okay, maybe sixty, you know. But no more than forty on a good day!”

“Stiles, that’s not a very good argument.”

Stiles sighed and deflated down to his desk. “I’m aware of that, but I swear it’s not her. It can’t be, alright? Lydia’s fine.”

He looked over at her, where she was tucked into a seat at the back, ignoring everyone else and flipping through the pages of her textbook. She was flipping kind of fast, actually. Erratically. After a moment, she slammed it closed and grabbed the one at the empty desk next to her, only to shove it away after looking at the cover.

She looked around at the room, her eyes passing right over Stiles like she couldn’t see him. Whatever she did see only made her stand up and start walking up to the front of the room. “I—I think I’m in the wrong room,” she said, voice shaky.

Harris turned to look at her. “Ms. Martin, sit down.”

“I’m—where is Mr. Harris?”

“Excuse me?”

Lydia only blinked blankly at him, then responded to something that was never said. “No, I’m just looking for Mr. Harris. I’m supposed to be in Geometry right now.”

“Is this some kind of joke, Ms. Martin?”

Stiles watched as tears welled up in Lydia’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. Where am I?”

“Lydia Martin, explain yourself!” Harris snapped.

Like flipping a switch, Lydia was back. She spun around to look at the room again, this time making eye contact with Stiles, then Scott, then presumably Jackson behind them. “I—I’m sorry.” She dashed back to her seat, ignoring Stiles’ attempts to catch her eye again.

Where had she gone in her head?

After a few seconds of tense silence, Harris turned back to the board and went back to teaching.

Lydia was _not_ fine.

Stiles spent the entirety of Econ bouncing his leg so hard Finstock slapped a yardstick on his desk, then bolted from the room before he could get yelled at for missing the game _and_ practice that morning.

At lunch, he found her in the cafeteria, sitting alone at the table she used to share with Jackson and their friends.

“Leave me _alone_ , Stiles.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I totally bailed on you and that’s my fault and I’m sorry. I got…caught up with something.”

Lydia looked up from her fries. “I bet you did. You know, that offer to be your friend? Rescinded. Why don’t we just go back to me pretending you don’t exist and you being an asshole somewhere else?”

“Lydia, _please_ —”

“I said, ‘No!’”

A moment of pure fear made Stiles push, even though all he wanted was to give her space. He yanked the chair next to Lydia out and dropped into it, leaning into her and grabbing at her sleeve when she tried to pull away. “Hey. You wanna know what’s been happening to you, right? I know you’ve been seeing things, Lydia. I can tell you what they are.”

Lydia scoffed, eyes suddenly bright with tears. “Of course you can, because you know all about it, right? About looking in the mirror and seeing someone else’s face? Seeing people that aren’t there, and having people that should be there go missing? You know all about that?”

“Yes. I do,” Stiles said. “Lydia, I know what’s going on, and I know you’re not crazy. I _swear_ to you, I will tell you everything you want to know, _everything_. But you need to trust me right now. You are in danger.”

The fry in Lydia’s hand fell to her plate. “What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean, ‘You are in danger.’ It’s pretty self explanatory.”

“Don’t be cute, Stiles. I’m going insane, so you don’t _get_ to be cute.”

Stiles resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “Look, I’m playing it by ear here, Lyds. Just _please_ , stay close to me or Scott during Chem. Okay? Or Allison, even. And stay _far away_ from Erica and Isaac until I figure out what they’re up to.”

“Didn’t Isaac kill his dad? What are you gonna do against a guy who committed patricide?”

Stiles groaned. “Okay, one: No, he didn’t. Two: Would you just—please? Okay?” Lydia shrugged in exasperation and nodded at him. “Thank you. It’s appreciated.”

She went back to ignoring him during gym, but at least she was ignoring Erica too, who was running her laps with a quiet determination. Erica must’ve gone four miles in the first twenty minutes, dashing by Stiles before he got the chance to ask her what was going on. Finstock was impressed, but Stiles was just in pain. He felt wobbly after the first lap, but with Finstock twice as mad, now that he’d skipped two games, every time he slowed down even a little bit he got a whistle to the ear.

Escorting Lydia to Chemistry class made Stiles feel just the slightest bit better, and he slid into the seat at her side. Then Harris opened his mouth.

“Einstein once said, ‘Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the universe.’”

Even whacked out on Peter’s ghost, Lydia still had the sass to mutter, “That wasn’t Einstein, that was Frederick S. Perls.”

But Harris went on, clapping Stiles on the shoulder as he passed behind him. “I myself have encountered infinite stupidity. So, to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you’re going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let’s see if two heads are indeed better than one.” He glanced down at Stiles. “Or in Mr. Stilinski’s case, less than one.”

Stiles startled at the soft, but still audible growls that started up somewhere behind him. At the next desk over, Scott’s eyes widened as he looked around Harris’ back.

“Is someone’s phone on?” Harris snapped.

“Stop that,” Stiles whispered. Immediately, the growls stopped. Scott was still staring at Stiles in confusion, though.

Stiles shrugged, trying to give off a “Wow, those werewolves sure are crazy” vibe.

“Ms. Reyes, you take the first station,” Harris continued.

In a chorus of creaks and shuffles, hands went up around the room, boys and girls alike. Erica just giggled while Harris scolded, “I didn’t ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands down. Start with Mr. McCall.”

Stiles watched with his heart in his throat until Lydia was paired with Allison, and then he was so relieved he barely noticed what he was doing with the beakers in front of him, or the student at his side. He knew them, had to, he’d been going to school with most of Beacon Hills High’s students since elementary, but at the moment they were faceless. Instead, all of Stiles’ focus was on the chess pieces in the room. Erica, Isaac, Scott, Allison, and Lydia.

With Lydia squared away at Allison’s side and Erica muttering something snippy at Scott, Stiles glanced at Isaac whenever he thought Harris wasn’t looking. Thankfully, Isaac was always looking back. Stiles couldn’t actually _say_ anything, not without Scott hearing him, but he could make some faces and hope Isaac understood.

The two minute round was grueling to get through, but then that ridiculous bell on Harris’ desk dinged, and Stiles found himself matched up with Isaac.

How he could talk, without saying anything?

But Isaac spoke first, wincing at him, then tipping his head toward the window. “I’m just following orders.”

Stiles looked where he’d indicated. Of course. There was no way Derek would leave them to do this alone. Stiles could see his car, and, just an outline, Derek himself. With those werewolf senses he could probably see and hear everything happening in class.

He just wanted to explain that Lydia wasn’t the kanima, she was possessed. He’d tried to tell Derek so many times and kept getting cut off. But saying it in the middle of class, where anyone could hear, was a bad plan. Even whispering it, Scott would hear, and Stiles was pretty sure that Derek should be the first to know that his uncle was possessing a teenage girl.

It wasn’t like he could speak another language to Derek. Stiles barely understood the most basic of Spanish, and he knew three words of French, all of them swears. Besides, he had no clue what Derek would understand, besides bedtime story references.

That might actually work. Scott had never been a big reader, even as a kid. 

As Stiles dumped some powder into the cylinder, he directed his words out the window and hoped that Derek wouldn’t think he was completely nuts.

“Listen Peter Pan, call off the Lost Boys. I’ll be your Jiminy Cricket, okay? You don’t have the whole story. The Blue Fairy over there? She’s actually just a pretty Pinocchio to your long lost Captain Hook. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Isaac leaned over, getting a little closer and pinching his hand open and closed to indicate speaking. “You shouldn’t eat the apple?”

“And _you_ shouldn’t mistake the Big Bad Wolf for the Evil Queen, when she’s actually just a Maid Marian held hostage by your own Nottingham. It’s not Christmas, but there’s a carol happening here.”

Though Isaac’s eyes were nearly crossed with confusion, he opened his mouth to play speakerphone to Derek, but was cut off by the ding of Harris’ bell.

“Switch.”

Stiles’ next partner was Scott, and Erica was with Allison, which left Lydia vulnerable to the mechanics of Harris’ stupid game of musical chairs. Isaac sat next to her with a smile that only widened when Lydia leaned back to catch Stiles’ eye.

As a last ditch effort, Stiles rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye. “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”

“Stiles, what the hell were you talking about over there?” Scott hissed.

With a shrug, Stiles stared over at Lydia and Isaac. “Nothing. Nothing that worked.”

He kept watching, completely ignoring his and Scott’s project, but nothing happened. Isaac didn’t jab her or say anything that upset her. They just worked on the project in silence. By the time Harris was tapping his little bell again, Stiles had almost relaxed. Had Derek changed his mind?

“Time. If you’ve catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal.”

The cylinder sitting in front of Stiles held something more akin to sludge.

“Now, for the part of the experiment I’m sure you’ll all enjoy,” Harris said. “You can eat it.”

Stiles couldn’t be paid to eat anything Harris said was safe, let alone the complete failure on his table, but Lydia and Isaac didn’t look to be having that problem. Isaac was holding up a crystal with a pair of tongs and offering it to Lydia.

After a second, Scott jumped out of his chair, shouting, “Lydia!”

To her credit, Lydia jumped and looked around like she might need to duck. “What?”

But Scott had gotten the entire class’ attention. Deflating, he just mumbled. “Uh, nothing.”

It was only after she’d taken a big bite out of the candy that Stiles understood what’d happened.

The venom that Jackson had said they made him eat. They had to have given it to Lydia too. Stiles knew it took a few seconds to kick in and he watched anxiously as Lydia chewed, waiting for her to cough or struggle or fall.

She did none of those things.

At a loss, Stiles dropped his head into his arms. They were screwed. There was no way that Derek would listen now. Somehow Lydia was immune to the venom, like she was to the bite, and the only logical reason was that she was the kanima.

But why would she have gone to Isaac’s house, then? Why kill his dad? Why kill the mechanic or the hunter? Why do any of this?

As sick as it was, Stiles’d half thought he would be used to having a serial killer running around town, after Peter. But, Peter had a reason, however awful.

When class was dismissed, Stiles went over to Lydia and Isaac’s table. A moment of eye contact with Isaac was enough to tell Stiles that he was more than a little freaked out. Lydia herself just looked frustrated. Stiles followed her as she stormed out of the room, even though Scott and Allison were beckoning to him.

“Hey, hey, Lydia, hold on.” Stiles resisted the urge to grab at her arm. Unlike the Betas, she probably wouldn’t appreciate all the touching, and he didn’t want to make her think he was going back on his promise to leave her alone romantically.

Lydia kept walking, fingers curled tightly around her messenger bag. “I can’t, Stiles. I have an appointment.”

“Who with?”

“Who do you think? We’re in high school, who do teenagers have appointments with?”

Stiles clicked his teeth together. “Hey! Listen, you don’t get to be cute either when your life is on the line.”

That got Lydia to stop and turn to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean? Is this some sick joke, Stiles? You told me to stay away from them and I did, and nothing happened!”

“That’s the whole point! Nothing happened! Why didn’t anything happen, Lydia?” Stiles tugged on his buzzcut so he didn’t wave his arms too wildly. “Something should have happened that didn’t, and that’s bad. I’m gonna come get you at the counselor’s office, okay? Just stay there until I come get you. Please?”

Though Lydia made a quiet little squeal of frustration, she still nodded, so Stiles let her leave without more arguing. It was strange how easy it was to forget that he’d had a crush on her when he was fighting with her on the regular.

Allison was the one that came to grab him and tug him into an office room where Scott was already standing.

Scott started. “Derek’s outside waiting for Lydia.”

“But why, what was going on in there? Since when is Isaac back at school?” Allison asked.

“Because they got him cleared,” Stiles explained. “Jackson took back what he said about seeing Isaac fight with his dad, and without the eyewitness testimony, they have nothing to hold him. Boom, Isaac can come back.”

Scott blinked at him. “But what are they going to do about him not having…you know, parents? Or a place to live?”

Edging around the topic, Stiles just shrugged. “I bet Derek’s gonna adopt him or something. Besides, that’s not the point right now.” He turned to Allison. “Derek figured out a test to see who the kanima is. Lydia failed it, now he thinks she’s the one who’s been killing people and trapping Derek and I in the pool.”

“Wait, what? Why a pool? Why you guys?”

Stiles just flailed slightly. “How should I know? But it’s not her.”

Scott spoke quietly, almost apologetic. “Stiles, she didn’t pass the test, man.”

“It can’t be her,” Stiles muttered.

This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. The dots didn’t line up. There was no correlation between all of these people and Lydia. When she’d told him what was wrong it was nothing like what a kanima would say, surely? She’d been upset about seeing someone else’s face in the mirror, about daydreams that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like she was losing time or waking up with blood on her hands. He refused to believe that it was her.

With a wave of her hand, Allison interrupted. “It doesn’t matter, because Derek thinks it _is_ her. So, what is he going to do? Capture her? Kill her?”

“All of the above, probably,” Scott said.

“So, either we can convince him that he’s wrong, or we’ve got to figure out a way to protect her.”

Stiles could do it. If he went right now and talked to Derek, he could convince him. That or he’d at least distract Derek long enough to get Lydia somewhere safe. Pack or no pack, if he could just do _something_. Peter had listened to him, and he was homicidal. Why wouldn’t Derek?

He shuffled around on the carpet as Scott replied, “Well, I really don’t think he’s going to do anything here. Not at school.”

“What about after school?” Allison argued. “Maybe we can prove that Derek’s wrong?”

“By three o’clock?” Stiles asked. There just wasn’t enough time until the end of study hall.

It was Allison’s turn to flail. “There could be something in the bestiary!”

“Oh, you mean the nine hundred page book written in Archaic Latin that none of us can read? Good luck with that.”

He felt a little bad for snapping at Allison, but all it did was make her squint at the floor in thought. “Actually, I think I know someone who might be able to translate it.”

Before Stiles could offer himself up as a diplomat, Scott did it instead, huffing and sighing. “I can…talk to Derek. Maybe get him to give us a chance to prove it’s not her. But if anything happens, you guys let me handle it.”

“What does that mean?” Allison asked.

“It means you can’t heal like I do. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Stiles stepped forward up to Allison’s side, so he was in Scott’s line of sight. “Dude, Scott, he won’t hurt us. You know Derek has a policy about that.”

Scott scoffed. “Oh, a policy? That’s why Erica knocked you out the night Boyd was attacked? Besides, Allison is an Argent.”

“That was an accident! Derek isn’t going to hurt her! He’s been protecting her from night one, on your first full moon!”

Allison shoved her way between them, a hand on both of their chests. “Enough! Look, it doesn’t matter.” Turning around, she yanked open her backpack and dug inside. Stiles watched her shoving books and notebooks and a little makeup bag aside, then jumped back when she pulled out a rod of metal. As soon as it had the room, two pieces flipped outward. “I can protect myself.”

It was a tiny crossbow, one bolt already loaded.

“Holy shit, is that part of the training?” Stiles sputtered. He leaned over to look at it. It was pretty high tech for a bow. “Hey, what’s with the bows and arrows? Aren’t guns a little more twenty-first century?”

Allison shrugged. “Dad likes guns, I like bows. It’s a style thing. And yeah, I have to have one on my person at all times. My big one is in my trunk.”

“You are getting more femme fatale every day, Allison,” Stiles whispered in awe. She and Erica would get along so well if they could just get past all this bullshit.

On the flip side, Scott actually looked a little scared. “You…you’re training? Like, with your parents? Your grandfather?”

“Well, kind of. My dad is the one who does the practical stuff. My mom does the hand to hand. Ever since my grandfather showed up he’s just been making me sit in on his meetings. He hasn’t really talked to me much.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Scott repeated. “If something goes wrong, you call me.” As he leaned in to Allison, his voice rose. “Okay? I—I don’t care if your dad finds out. Call, text, scream, yell. I’ll hear you and I’ll find you as fast as I can.”

He glanced over at Stiles. “We have until three.”

Three o’clock was only a little more than an hour away. They left the room and split up to do their own separate jobs, but Stiles found himself heading down the same hallway as Allison anyway.

“Where did you leave Lydia?” Allison asked. With her backpack slung over her shoulder and crossbow hidden away again, she looked like a gentle, if determined, teenager again.

Stiles gestured shortly. “She had an appointment with the counselor, I told her I’d pick her up.”

Allison grinned slyly at him. “Oh? And she’s just letting you do that? Did you guys finally hit it off?”

“No! God, no. We’re—I’m—Just friends. That’s it. That’s all.”

“Then what about that jacket?”

Stiles looked down. He was still wearing Derek’s jacket. Had Derek been able to see that in class? Maybe that was what Isaac had been about to mention before he got cut off.

“It’s nothing. She just said I looked ridiculous and sort of shoved it at me. Friends or not, I wasn’t about to say no.”

* * *

“Let me deal with it,” Boyd said. “It’s just Scott.”

Derek crossed his arms and leaned back against the bleacher behind his seat. “You saw what he did to Erica and Isaac at the rink. I shouldn’t—I taught him to protect himself, and he’s just attacking.”

“I have this cousin, she’s been doing Tae-Kwon-Do for like six years. The instructor makes them all memorize a chant about how having the ability to hurt people doesn’t mean they should. The point is self-defense, not offense. But lacrosse is the total opposite. You see a weakness and you go for it.” Boyd rested his hands on his belly. “It doesn’t matter. I can take Scott while you…”

He winced, and Derek sighed. “You know why this has to happen. She’s killing people.”

After a moment, Boyd nodded and cleared his throat. “You said the Hale pack has been protecting Beacon Hills for years, and since we’re the new Hale pack, it’s our job. I get it.”

Derek hated this, but what could he do?

This was his fault. If he’d just stopped Peter sooner, Lydia wouldn’t have been attacked. Then there was everything Stiles had been muttering about Peter’s ghost controlling her. It made sense that Stiles would think something so ridiculous, rather than admitting she was the kanima. Things would be much easier if there was only one murderer to blame.

He could hear the huffing and puffing of Scott’s approach before he’d even made it to the field. “Alright, are you sure?”

Boyd outright laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Go ahead.”

Growling softly, Derek climbed off the bleachers and headed for the other side of the school, giving Scott a wide berth and staying out of view. Just before he headed inside, Derek paused to listen to their conversation. He just wanted to make sure.

“I want to talk to Derek.”

“Talk to me.”

Scott huffed. “I don’t want to fight.”

And yet, Derek could hear his heart racing. It didn’t give him much faith. Derek glanced at the door. Isaac and Erica were expecting him to show up and help them get Lydia. He would never include them in the…he would never make them help him kill her. But Boyd could be as calm as he wanted, it wouldn’t keep Scott from doing something stupid. How was he supposed to choose?

“Good,” Boyd said. “‘Cus I’m twice the size of you.”

“True. Really, really true.” As Scott’s heart sped up, Derek backpelled a few steps. No, don’t do it. “But you know what I think? I’m twice as fast.”

By the time Boyd’s back hit the ground, Derek was at his side. He wouldn’t leave his Beta alone to let him be pulled into a fight. Standing in between them, so he could shove Scott back if he tried anything, Derek just said, “She failed the test.”

Scott jerked at his appearance, even though Derek hadn’t tried to be quiet about his arrival. “Yeah, which doesn’t prove anything. Lydia’s different.”

“I know. At night she turns into a homicidal walking snake.”

Sticking his jaw out, Scott warned, “I’m not going to let you kill her.”

Derek frowned. “I don’t need you to _let_ me do anything.”

As Scott’s heart picked up speed again, Derek let Boyd rush forward and push Scott back to the ground before he could attack. Scott hit the dirt gasping, and Derek nodded at Boyd in approval before turning back to Scott. “I don’t know why you think you have to protect everyone now, Scott. But even so, Lydia has killed people and she’s gonna do it again. Next time, it’s going to be one of us.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“She was bitten by an Alpha. It has to be her.”

“Why?” Scott cried, “What does it matter that an Alpha bit her? Doesn’t she have to be bitten by another kanima?”

Derek looked over at the school again. He didn’t have time for this, but if he could get Scott to stop fighting him, it would make everything easier. “No. Kanimas aren’t their own species of shapeshifter. They’re a mutation. They’re a mistake. This kind of thing happens rarely, and it happens for a reason.”

Scott glared at him. “What reason?”

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.” Derek leaned down and held his hand out for Scott to take. To his surprise, Scott accepted the help standing. Trying to push the point, Derek added, “Even Stiles calls her cold blooded.”

Cold blooded, and allergic to raspberries. How was Derek supposed to kill a fifteen-year-old girl who was allergic to raspberries?

“What about Jackson?” Scott asked, eyes scrunched as his brain worked. Derek could only wait for him to make the connection. “That’s why you tested him, isn’t it? Because you gave him what he wanted, didn’t you?”

“Scott—”

“Peter said, ‘The bite either kills you or turns you.’” Scott scoffed softly. “You were probably hoping that he would die.”

Derek snapped, grabbing the front of Scott’s shirt and lifting him up to his toes. “Jackson broke into my home and demanded the bite hours after I became an Alpha. He knew what he was risking. Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t bite people without their permission.”

Gasping and grabbing at Derek’s wrist, Scott tipped his head just enough to see over Derek’s shoulder to where Boyd was standing. “Are you serious? He told you the bite could kill you and you took it anyway?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Boyd said, standing his ground.

“But Jackson isn’t a werewolf, right? If he were, we’d know. So, what is he if not the kanima?”

Derek dropped Scott’s shirt and pushed him backwards. “He didn’t pass the test. He was paralyzed by the venom.”

Apparently out of reasons, Scott just growled. “You can’t _do_ this.”

“I can’t let her live!” Derek shouted. “She is killing people! You know that!”

* * *

Hurry up and wait was Stiles’ least favorite form of protection, but it was all he could do. Standing outside of the counselor’s office with Allison, Stiles picked his nails and readjusted the leather on his shoulders. He didn’t exactly have time to drop it off in his locker before, and he wasn’t about to leave Allison and Lydia alone to make the trip now.

“You’re sure Morrell can translate it?” He asked again.

Allison bit at her lip. “I think so. But it’s our only chance, so what else are we supposed to do?”

“Yeah, yeah. It just sucks.”

“This whole situation sucks. I can’t believe Isaac and Erica would help Derek kill Lydia. Like, _kill_ her. What are they thinking? We saved Isaac at the jail, even when we thought he’d murdered his own dad.” Allison nearly crumpled the printed out sheets of the bestiary that had the word “Kanima” on them in her fist.

Stiles just shifted some more. “Yeah, well, there’s a big difference between _possibly_ having taken out the guy who’d been abusing you for years, and murdering a bunch of random people. Remember, the kanima is the one who _did_ kill Isaac’s dad. It’d be one thing if he’d done it himself, but it has to hurt knowing someone else did it. They’re just trying to keep people safe.” He rubbed at his eyebrow where a headache was beginning to form, adding new pain to his still sore body. All this running around was way more exhausting than usual. “I just wish I could prove it wasn’t Lydia.”

The moment the door cracked open and Lydia’s face appeared, Allison dashed up and slipped past her into the office.

“What was that?” Lydia asked. “Is she finally ready to talk to someone about her secret relationship with Scott?”

“Uh, no.” Stiles said, tugging her over toward the chairs. “That was about the…the stuff I’m going to explain to you. Eventually.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Eventually? Why not now, while we wait?”

“Listen, this is not the kind of thing that I can just drop on you. It needs delicacy or something.”

“Stiles, I’m starting to think you don’t actually know anything. If you’re lying to me about this—”

Stiles dropped into a seat and jiggled his leg. “No! I’m not lying! Okay, uh, you said when you looked in the mirror someone else was looking back.”

Immediately, Lydia’s face shuttered and her voice dropped. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess. It was a guy. Black hair, blue eyes. He has this stupid way of smiling that looks like a snarl. His face just screams ‘douchebag.’ Am I close?”

Lydia was white as a sheet.

“See? I’m not lying.”

“There you are.” Jackson came barrelling around the corner. “Stilinski, if you’re going to associate with all of these stupid werewolves, you could at least make them try to keep it a secret.”

On reflex, Stiles made a face at Jackson. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you just say—”

Jackson pointed behind him, cutting Lydia off. “I’m talking about those little murder puppies running around the halls with their claws out.”

“They’re _what?_ ” Stiles jumped to his feet. “Oh shit, shit shit shit. Jackson, they’re coming for Lydia.”

“What? Why?”

“She didn’t pass.”

Jackson turned to stare at Lydia, then back at Stiles. “Are you serious? She didn’t get paralyzed?”

“Nope.”

Lydia got up and glared. “Paralyzed? Someone was trying to paralyze me?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Stiles said. “We gotta go. Jackson, you coming?”

For a second Jackson paused, then he gave a shaky nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Refusing to waste any more time, Stiles shoved the counselor’s door open and leaned in to where Ms. Morrell was looking at Allison. With one hand he snatched the sheets of the bestiary out of her hands, and with the other he reached over and grabbed Allison’s wrist.

“Sorry, we have to go. Thanks for your help,” he rushed.

Thankfully, Allison didn’t fight Stiles and followed him out of the room.

“They’re coming, we need to go.”

“Wait, go? Go where?” Lydia asked. “Damn it, Stiles.”

To Stiles’ surprise, it was Jackson who went up and grabbed Lydia’s shoulder. “Lydia, shut up.”

Getting all of them out and to the Jeep was far easier than Stiles thought it would be. As he pulled out of the lot, Stiles could only sigh at the irony that Derek had fixed Stiles’ getaway vehicle just in time for Stiles to get away from _him_.

They headed for Scott’s house, mostly because Stiles’ dad was home and partly because it was closer to the school, and therefore to Scott. Stiles used his copied keys to open the front door and let the rest of the group file in, then locked the deadbolt, threw the chain into place, and shoved a chair underneath the knob.

“Stiles—”

“I know, Lydia, I know. I get it. But this is just _not_ the time.”

Lydia stormed up to him, purse swinging wildly from her elbow. “Then when is the time? You don’t get to just drag me around town telling me I’m in danger and that some kids from school are coming after me! I want an explanation!”

Stiles groaned in frustration. “And you will _get_ one. Just not right now! Right now, I’m going to save your life, so if you could just back off and let me do that, I’d really appreciate it!”

Strawberry blonde hair slapped him in the face as Lydia spun on her heel and stomped up the stairs. A few moments later, Jackson huffed and went to follow her up.

“Jackson!” Stiles called. When Jackson turned, Stiles held out his hand. “Phone. We have to call Scott and mine is at the bottom of a pool.”

The phone that was tossed through the air hit Stiles in the chest and he fumbled to keep from dropping it on Scott’s hardwood floor. Then Jackson was gone and Lydia was gone, and Allison was standing and staring out the window with a crossbow in hand.

At least there were no more questions.

Their headstart didn’t last long. Stiles hadn’t even felt the need to wander around the house and vent his nervous energy before more was piled on by the appearance of Derek and his pack. They walked up the street: three leathered teenagers and one Alpha in a peacoat. With the height of Erica’s heels, there was no chance they’d walked the entire way, which meant Derek’s car was somewhere around. But they didn’t try to come in. The four of them just stood in the middle of the empty road, staring at the house. Stiles watched until Erica tipped her head and waved at him, then he bolted back behind the thin lace curtain of the window.

“What do we do?” Allison asked, whispering.

There wasn’t a point in trying to be quiet, but Stiles understood the urge not to break the tense silence, so he whispered back, “Call Scott.” He handed over Jackson’s phone, then peered outside again, to where now Isaac was the one staring at him.

When Allison’s call was over, there was nothing to do but wait.

There was only so much he could take. The stupid grandfather clock in Scott’s hallway was ticking loud enough Stiles thought his head might explode and Allison was biting her lip so hard there was a sheen of red to it in the low light of the entryway. 

They couldn’t wait for Scott to show up, it would just end up in another fight, and Stiles was getting sick of watching teenagers run at each other with claws out, destroying perfectly good clothes and looking like idiots. With her little crossbow out, Allison looked like she was willing to do what it took to protect Lydia, but she shouldn’t _have_ to. Not when there was another way.

Stiles had never had any self preservation anyway.

“This is ridiculous. I’m going out there,” he scoffed, yanking the chair out from under the doorknob.

Allison gasped and grabbed for the chair to stop him. “Stiles, are you crazy? Derek’s whole pack is out there. They’re ready to _kill_ Lydia. What exactly do you think you’re going to do?”

Stiles squinted at the sheer curtains over the window. “Well, I’m gonna try out being reasonable, and if that doesn’t work, I’m going to shout my head off until someone listens to me.”

He sighed at Allison. It would waste time if he tried to explain all of this. They really needed to set up more meetings to help ease her into things. It wasn’t like he could just outright say that he was technically part of Derek’s pack. Unless Derek had been serious about him not being allowed to be in the pack as long as he was friends with Scott. Maybe this was a little stupider of an idea than he’d hoped. Too late now; his hand was already on the unlocked door. 

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna figure this out,” he reassured. “Just stay in here and relock the door behind me. Watch through the window. And Allison,” Stiles caught her gaze and held it as firmly as he could. “Do _not_ shoot them unless they come after you.”

He dove out the door before she could argue, nearly tripping on the drop to Scott’s front step. He pulled the door shut and held it there until the lock clicked obediently into place. On his left, Allison pulled back the curtain and stared at him. Throwing her a smile and some thumbs up, Stiles turned to face Derek.

He looked better, calmer than Stiles was used to seeing him. Maybe it was because he was surrounded by his pack? A united front and all that? Or maybe he just thought he was about to solve the kanima problem when he killed Lydia.

Derek smiled at Stiles, but it didn’t look right. It was sharp and smug, even without fangs to seal the deal. “What are you doing out here, Stiles?”

Stiles snorted and replied in the same exact tone of voice. “Don’t ask stupid questions just to be dramatic, Derek.”

As Derek’s smile turned into the real smirk Stiles was more familiar with, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd came up to greet him. Taking a risk, Stiles reached out for them and instigated a big pack hug. If he wasn’t pack, then Derek could just deal.

Barely a moment in, Derek snarled a quiet warning, and the Betas backed away, faces drawn. At the last second, Erica tugged lightly at Stiles’ jacket, and Derek finally noticed its existence.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, brows raised and voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Stiles hurried to take it off and held it out. “I, uh, here. They—I mean, I just sort of borrowed it?”

Just like when Stiles had held it out for Derek in the ruins of his family home, Derek reached out and took it slowly, then shook it out. He didn’t switch it out for the peacoat though. Stiles shivered in his light hoodie after removing the extra layer of warmth.

When Derek didn’t speak again, Stiles just got to the heart of the matter. “You can’t hurt Lydia,” Stiles said. When Derek scoffed, he amended, “I know you _could_ , but you shouldn’t. And you know it.”

“Stiles…” Erica sighed.

At her side, Isaac was wringing his hands. “Stiles, you’re not gonna—”

Stiles held a hand up to them. “Guys, it’s okay. I’m talking to our Alpha.”

The widening of Derek’s eyes made Stiles a little more unsure of himself. What if Derek wasn’t just posturing before?

He started talking again to cover his nerves. “Derek, you know how messed up this is. I get that it’s frustrating, having something new going after people right after we just got things figured out. The hunters can’t blame you for the people the kanima kills, but they _can_ blame you for killing Lydia.”

He was focused hard on meeting Derek’s eyes, not sure whether to keep it up and show he was serious, or if it would just piss Derek off. Still, the shifting of a shadow on his right didn’t escape him, and he swung an arm out to point. “Isaac, don’t. I’m trying to have a conversation. Allison has orders to shoot you if you go near the house. Trust me, it happened to Scott once. And Derek. You don’t want it to happen to you.”

Now Derek actually snorted, and Stiles’ lips pulled up in a grin. “See? I’m still werewolf Yoda. Now let me be Yoda, and give me time to figure this out. Listen, Derek, I’m tired and I’m sore, and I don’t wanna argue with you.”

He tried not to back away as Derek stepped forward, but Stiles couldn’t help squealing when Derek grabbed his wrist and lifted it up. Stiles spluttered for a second, then froze. “Holy shit. How are you—what is _that?_ ”

The aches and pains Stiles had been limping and gritting his teeth through the entire day were fading, leaving only the tiniest twinges behind. Stiles stared at his own wrist, unable to think of a response. Derek didn’t actually let go once the pain was gone, so Stiles took a chance and met his eyes. “Thanks, Alpha,” he muttered. “Oh, and thanks for my Jeep. Not such a Sourwolf after all, huh?”

“Shut up, Tinkerbell.” Derek glowered at Stiles.

Stiles glanced over at Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, who all wore smug grins. Behind Derek’s shoulder, Erica tugged at her leather collar and mouthed, “Jacket,” then gave him a thumbs up.

“You fucking—little—” Stiles lifted his free hand to point viciously at Erica. “You conniving little Wendy Darling.”

That was her plan the whole time. It wasn’t about Isaac getting to share scents with Stiles, it was about covering Derek’s coat in Stiles’ scent and seeing if it’d make him stop fighting Stiles being in the pack. It was clever and incredibly rude.

“Actually, Stiles…technically, _you’re_ Wendy Darling. Human and all,” Erica chimed

“Oh, bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“ _Enough._ ” Derek cut in. He shook Stiles a little by the wrist. “You need to stay away from this, Stiles. For your own sake. Lydia didn’t pass the test. A snake can’t be poisoned by its own venom, and she _wasn’t_. She has to be the kanima.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Come on, Derek. Please, give us time.”

The scowl Stiles was used to was back as Derek said, “Don’t you get it? We don’t have time. We’re right back where we started! The kanima is killing people. It’s my job to stop it.”

“Wait, who was doing it before?” Isaac asked, poking his head forward toward them.

Boyd’s whisper was still easy to hear. “I’ll tell you later.”

Stiles frowned at Derek. “Derek, this isn’t your job. It’s not Scott’s either. _This_ is what hunters are supposed to be for. The kanima is a shapeshifter gone wrong, and now that it’s attacking people it’s broken the hunter’s code, right? Why can’t you just let them take care of it?”

Derek jerked his head toward the house and shook Stiles again, gently. “So you’re telling me if it were the Argents going after Lydia, you’d be fine with it? They’re _hunters_ , Stiles! At least I’ll make it quick!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Whirling around, Stiles saw Scott stopped about a hundred feet down the road. Half shifted, with his eyes glowing and his fangs out, he raced up and shoved his way between Stiles and Derek. Stiles stumbled back and had to grab at Scott’s shoulder to keep his balance. “Get away from him,” Scott growled, crouching low.

From an outsider’s perspective, Derek’s position had been offensive. The hand that was gripping Stiles probably didn’t look very friendly, and Erica and Isaac were sporting their own golden eyes.

“No, Scott—” Stiles was interrupted by a roar he felt in his bones.

Derek was fully in his Beta shift, and before the roar had ended even Boyd had joined him. Stiles himself felt something intense and fiery blaze in his chest even while his ears were ringing. He didn’t catch the sound of the door opening, and the wavered cry from behind him startled him into turning his back on the werewolves.

“Stop! Everybody just stop.” Allison had her crossbow up, aimed straight for Erica’s chest. While her arms didn’t so much as tremble, there were tears running down her face and Stiles didn’t have much faith she wouldn’t pull the trigger at the slightest provocation.

He took advantage of the werewolves’ stunned state. “Yes, oh my god, let’s just stop. This is so far out of hand.”

Nobody moved, or shifted back. Stiles tried again. “Scott. Scott!” He grabbed at Scott’s shoulder, only to be shaken off. “Oh my—” Stiles shoved himself into the space between all the claws and teeth he could ever have nightmares of. Since Scott was unresponsive, Stiles faced Derek. He saw one claw twitch at Derek’s side and hoped it wasn’t an aborted attempt to swat him out of the way. “Everybody just calm down. Derek, seriously, we’re in the middle of the street. This isn’t _safe_.”

There was a good second where Stiles could see Derek relax, and with him, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Then, an ear-splitting shriek, every bit as powerful as Derek’s roar and twice as sharp burst into the air. Stiles fell to his knees and threw his hands over his ears, joined by everyone around him.

The sound was coming from the house, and Stiles looked up at it as soon as he stopped feeling like his ears were bleeding. A dark shadow was climbing over the sill of Scott’s bedroom window, walking across the roof on all fours with ease. As it passed out of a shadow cast by a nearby tree, even Stiles could clearly see its scales and the long tail behind it.

“She changed,” Derek said, climbing to his feet.

The front door was still thrown open from when Allison came out, and a moment later, Lydia came running out onto the porch. She was panting and sniffling, but her voice was hard as iron as she shouted, “Would someone _please_ tell me what the _hell_ is going on?”

“No, she didn’t,” Scott responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> That whole Einstein Quote "Two things are infinite" thing? Yeah, I absolutely hated that line, couldn't believe Einstein wrote it, so I did some research and HE DIDN'T. *blows raspberry* Fuck you Harris. Fake Fan!  
> In the same vein, I just, holy god I was so so sick of Harris fucking bullying Stiles and threatening to hurt him in class and no one giving a fuck. Now my boy has a pack, so even if Scott's a piece of shit, at least they're gonna want to defend him.  
> You've no idea what a good time I'm having with this whole pack thing. It's just. So. Good.


	6. Episode 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me three hours to do my last minute readthrough of this chapter. Oof. But it's such a good chapter! Y'all've been all excited about Stackson brotp, yes? Well let's lay some foundations.
> 
> Also, if y'all are bored, I've been going on kind of a rant binge lately on my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) about Meta TW and the shit about it that bugs me (much of which I've been trying to fix/adjust in this rewrite.) so if you want, go ahead and check those posts out. I talk a lot and use way too many italics. XD

A lot happened at once. While Allison hurried to hide her crossbow behind her back, all of the werewolves in the street shifted down except Derek, who bolted in the direction that the kanima—that _Jackson_ had gone, leaving his jacket on the pavement.

“Who was that?” Scott yelled. “If that wasn’t Lydia, who was it?”

Stiles shook his head to dismiss the question. “Allison, take Lydia home. Take her home and make sure she gets inside. Scott, we need to go, come on!”

He headed for his Jeep, only to stop when Boyd called out. “Stiles, we should—”

“Go home, Boyd.” Stiles whirled and stared the three Betas down, pretending for a second that their idea about him having some kind of magical seniority was real, that he could make them listen. They were so new to this, they didn’t know how to protect themselves. “Take them back to Derek’s place and protect them there. You _go_ and you _stay put_. Let Derek handle this. Let me handle this. Please.”

He expected them to argue. Who was he to tell them what to do? He wasn’t Derek, he wasn’t their parent. But they turned around and left, Isaac scooping up Derek’s jacket, heading in whatever direction Derek had parked his car.

Allison and Lydia walked off too, Allison nearly dragging Lydia by her arm.

That left Scott to hop into the Jeep beside Stiles so they could peel out onto the road.

“Do you know which way Derek went?” Stiles asked. “Can you smell him, or the kanima?”

Scott pointed down the road. “This way, I can smell Derek. Stiles, that was Jackson wasn’t it? Allison called from his number.”

“Yeah. Turns out the test was bogus, like I thought.”

“Take a left.”

The trail was still hot when Stiles was forced to stop by a spike strip and giant fence. “What do we do?” Stiles asked. He turned to look at Scott, but there was no one there, just his door swinging silently on its hinges.

Grumbling, Stiles leaned over and pulled it shut. Screw Derek and his considerate oiling of Stiles’ car door. He put the Jeep in reverse and made a circuit of the building, trying to find another way in. It was one of those abandoned shopping mall projects, the ones that Beacon Hills was full of.

Stiles knew that while Beacon Hills was pretty small, it didn’t used to be so damn decrepit. The pictures his dad had laying around showed that the warehouse district used to be full of actual warehouses that were being _used_ , and big apartment buildings for the people who worked in them. It was no L.A, but it had been bustling. Now, half the restaurants and coffee shops and small businesses in town were boarded up, leaving plenty of spaces for a sneaky lizard to hide out.

It was hideous to drive through in the dark, and Stiles couldn’t help slowing a little to make sure he didn’t drive over anything that would screw up his tires. Just as he’d found another entrance to the space Scott had disappeared to, Stiles had to slam on his brakes as first the kanima, then Scott came racing past him. The both of them were like blurs, one green, one powder blue in Stiles’ headlights.

Following them for a few blocks, Stiles left the Jeep in an alley where a few other cars were parked and ran around the side of the building. He knew this place, it was the only club on this side of town. As he rounded the corner to get to the front door, Stiles nearly slammed into Scott.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized to Scott’s spooked face. “Did you see where he went?”

“I lost him,” Scott admitted.

Stiles squinted. “What? You couldn’t catch his scent? I thought you were getting better at that.”

Scott ticked his head to the side. “I don’t think he _has_ one.”

“Alright, any clue where he’s going?” Why would he come to _Jungle_ of all places?

Tilting himself around the corner of the building to watch the queue of people outside the front door, Scott said simply, “To kill someone.”

Stiles sighed. “Ah, that explains the claws, and the fangs, and all that. Good. Makes perfect sense, now.”

Scott blinked at him in exasperation.

“What? Scott, come on. I’m a hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, okay? Sarcasm is my _only_ defense.”

“Just help me find it.”

“Not it,” Stiles corrected. “Jackson.”

“Yeah, I know. I—I know.”

“Right, but does he know that?

Taking another glance, Scott frowned. “But, he already passed Derek’s test, anyway.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah, but that’s just the thing. How _did_ he pass the test?”

“I don’t know.”

Stiles scanned the gravel for a second. “Maybe it’s like an either-or thing.”

When Scott just looked at him, he explained. “Derek said a snake can’t be poisoned by its own venom, so when is the kanima _not_ the kanima?”

Scott paused for a second. “When it’s Jackson.”

They went back to looking around, and Stiles cast his gaze upward by chance. At least they didn’t have to worry about another full moon yet.

A flicker of reflection caught his eye, and Stiles gaped as the kanima climbed its way through an open window of the club. He reached an arm out, only managing a slight, “Uhh…dude.” Every time he saw this stupid thing, someone got paralyzed. Now it was heading into a crowded building? By the time Scott had backed up to join him in looking, all that stuck out was the flicking tail. “See that?”

“He’s inside.”

“What’s he going to do in there?” Stiles asked.

Scott twitched. “I know who he’s going after.”

“What? How? Did you smell something?”

“Yeah, Armani.” He turned back to Stiles. “Danny’s Armani.”

Stiles followed Scott further toward the back of the building, where he’d seen a door. Of course, it was locked. Stiles yanked on it a couple times before giving up. “Come on, maybe there’s like a, uh—like a window we could climb through, or some kind of—” A piece of metal landed in the hand Stiles was using to gesture. He looked down at it, “Handle that we could rip off with supernatural strength. How’d I not think of that one?”

Inside was like a whole other world of noise and flashing lights. There were disco balls, strobe lights, and lazers all going at once, and the music was so loud Stiles could feel his collarbone vibrating. It was slightly nauseating, but exciting too. There were long strips of cloth hanging from the piped ceiling, and long, shirtless men hanging from those strips of cloth. To complete the picture were hundreds of guys in random levels of dress, from shirtless to full suited, to big hipster glasses and garish silk shirts, all dancing like one massive organism of male.

Stiles took a couple steps into the fray behind Scott, then twirled toward the tug on his arm. Smiling down at him was a drag queen in six inch heels. Stiles’s eyes widened as far as they could go as he tried to take in the whole picture of her outfit. From the flaming pink homecoming dress, mountain of metallic and glittery necklaces, and nearly claw-like acrylic nails clutching a cocktail, the least colorful thing about her was her dirty blonde hair.

“Hi, honey. This your first time here?” She asked, voice low and sweet. She tucked herself up against his side and gestured over his other shoulder. “Isn’t he cute, girls?”

Nearly giggling with nerves, and at the way the drag queen had started tickling his ear with her nails, Stiles shuffled his feet. “Uh, kind of. I—uh, what—” 

Brow furrowed and confused, Scott called out from a few feet away, “I think we’re in a gay club!”

“Man, nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh, Scott?” Stiles rolled his eyes, then felt like they were going to pop out when he realized what he’d said, but the little group he’d apparently attracted just laughed.

Another woman on his other side sipped her drink. “Playing pretend?”

Stiles smiled wide and anxious around him. “Uh, yeah. Exactly.”

“Stiles, I found him!”

Perking up at the sight of Danny at the bar, Stiles tried to disentangle himself. “I, uh, I gotta go. But, thanks! You all look great, and I hope you have a great night!”

A little zing of anxiety shot up Stiles’ spine when the first drag queen grabbed his arm. She held onto his wrist and pulled his sleeve up with the other hand, then grabbed a marker from inside the bodice of her dress. “What’s that for?” he asked.

“So much easier than borrowing your phone,” she said, scribbling a phone number down onto his arm. The felt tip of the marker tickled, and Stiles tried not to twitch. “Call if you have any trouble, okay hun? Or if you’re looking for a good party, of course.”

Stiles nodded, and went to turn away, then spun back around. “Wait, I didn’t actually get your names!”

The first woman smiled at him and put one hand under his chin. “It’s Kiki. Kiki Cutabitch.”

The snort left Stiles without his permission. “Hi, Kiki, I’m Stiles.”

“And this is Abigail, she’s moral support tonight.” Kiki pointed at the non-drag queen of the group, a woman in a dark cardigan and green shirt. “And Alotta Bush.” Alotta was in a similar style to Kiki, with a bright red homecoming-looking dress and lots of bangles.

Stiles left the group cackling, but showed up at the bar with Scott too late to catch Danny. Slapping his hands down on the bar as he settled, Stiles grinned at the bartender. “Two beers, please.”

“I.D?” The bartender didn’t look the slightest bit impressed.

Perfectly aware that he didn’t have a fake I.D, Stiles shot the guy a few finger guns. “Did I say beers? I meant Cokes.”

The bartender huffed at him and turned around, making some kind of hand sign to a shirtless guy making drinks. Stiles tried to appear like he belonged in a place this crazy, while still looking around for Danny.

“This one is paid for,” the guy said, approaching with two cups of Coke in his hand and gesturing to the free drink, then over his shoulder as he slid it in front of Scott.

Across the bar, a stupidly hot guy raised his glass and winked at Scott.

Muttering viciously, Stiles pulled a five out of his wallet and slapped it down to pay for his own drink. When he saw Scott grinning at him, Stiles scoffed. “Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, your face did.” Stiles lifted his straw to his mouth and chewed on it as he turned to face the crowd. There was a little bubble of space around the bar for walking around, and it gave him a semi-decent view of the actual dancefloor.

Right in the center, Danny was dancing with someone.

“Hey, found Danny,” Stiles warned. He set his drink down. How were they going to get him out of the building?

Scott was looking up at the ceiling. “I found Jackson.”

Somehow the kanima was managing to crawl upside down along the cement roof. No one else had noticed yet, but how long could that last?

“You get Danny,” Scott ordered, not taking his eyes off Jackson.

“What’re you going to do?”

In answer, Scott flicked his claws out.

“Works for me.” Stiles dove forward into the crowd, sidestepping and trying not to shove people out of his way.

It was way too easy to get lost in this place. As soon as Stiles made it past the first line of dancers, he lost sight of Danny for a second, and had to call out. “Danny!” His voice wasn’t remotely audible over the sound of the bass. Pushing harder to get between the little groupings of people, Stiles stretched his neck out and caught a glimpse of Danny’s eyes. “Danny!”

Someone pushed Stiles to the side, and then he was lost. No one was recognizable. Which way had he been walking? “Danny?” A group of guys surrounded him, trapping him in the middle of their dance circle, and Stiles had to nearly jump at the tiny space between two of their shoulders to escape. He’d changed his mind, clubs were _not_ exciting in the least. They were smelly and loud and where the _hell_ was Danny?

By sheer coincidence, Stiles saw one of the heads in front of him drop and not come back up. Then another disappeared. And another. He caught a single flash of Danny at the last second, before a dark hand reached out and Danny went down.

The music was still going, and although the people near those that’d gone down had stopped dancing, everyone more than two feet away was partying like nothing had happened. Layered under the beat of the music, Stiles felt something he instinctively knew was a roar. The vibration was there, even if he couldn’t hear it. Moments later, people seemed to be catching on, and a few screams and yelps sounded out until the music was shut off.

In the middle of the dancefloor, half a dozen people had been paralyzed.

Since no one had shouted about a giant lizard on the floor, Stiles could only assume that no one had actually _seen_ Jackson. Backtracking toward the door they’d come in was practically easy, considering how everyone else was trying to escape through the front.

Stiles didn’t need super smelling to follow a massive blood trail down to the same alley he’d parked his car in. It ended at Jackson himself, unconscious and completely naked on the ground, smeared in blood. Scott was kneeling next to him and he looked up at Stiles’ arrival. 

“Did you do this?” Stiles checked.

“No, Derek got to him before me.”

“Well, what do we do with him now?”

The Jeep was only a couple cars down the line, so Stiles ran to it and unlocked the trunk. He had a single blanket in the back for when his heater crapped out in the middle of winter, and a pair of sweatpants that must’ve fallen out of his gym bag. They didn’t smell too terrible. But first.

He brought the blanket over and folded it over Jackson’s junk. “Help me get him into the car, hurry up!”

Sirens were already in earshot, getting louder by the second as he tried to help Scott maneuver Jackson’s body without touching or seeing anything that would scar him more than he already was. Once they’d shoved him into the backseat, Stiles yanked the blanket out from under him and just covered as much of Jackson as he could.

“Dude, you gotta find out why he went after Danny. Quick, before he gets taken to the hospital. I’ll pull the car around,” Stiles said. As soon as Scott ran off, Stiles twisted in his seat and pointed a finger at Jackson. “You owe me _so much_ right now. And for the record, in case you die, I _hate_ you.”

Luckily the cops were too busy dealing with the people who’d come swarming out the front to worry about making a decent perimeter, and Stiles managed to get the Jeep out without being seen. He parked across the front lot and watched Scott stand next to Danny’s stretcher. When he’d been paralysed, it lasted less than half an hour. Derek though, he’d been sliced on the neck and couldn’t so much as twitch the entire time they were in the pool. So how long would Danny be frozen? What made the difference in time?

Scott burst into the Jeep just as Jackson started to shift around. “I couldn’t get anything out of Danny.”

“Okay, fine, can we just get the hell outta here now, before one of my dad’s deputies sees me?” Stiles asked. He was already in the doghouse as it was with all his detentions and if he was seen at one more crime scene for no reason, Stiles honestly didn’t know what his dad would do.

When Scott nodded, Stiles turned the car back on. He hadn’t even gotten it shifted into drive when another cruiser came blaring into the lot and stopped right in front of the Jeep. His dad was sitting behind the steering wheel.

“Oh my god!” Stiles cried, pulling his hands from the wheel. “Oh my god! Could this even _get_ any worse?”

Behind him, Jackson groaned, as if he were waking up.

Stiles spun to shout at him, “That was rhetorical!”

“Get rid of him,” Scott suggested.

“Get rid of him?” Stiles repeated. “We’re at a _crime scene_ and he’s the sheriff!”

Scott waved his hands around his head. “Do something!”

Scowling, Stiles twisted around and flailed his way out of the vehicle, half-hoping he’d accidentally bash his own head in on the door and not have to have this conversation.

The face his dad was wearing as he climbed out of the cruiser was so far from pleased, it wasn’t even in the same galaxy. He looked fucking furious, and Stiles couldn’t even blame him. How many times was Stiles supposed to lie to his dad while showing up at murder scenes, or breakouts, or random attacks before his dad thought _he_ was the one hurting people?

“Hey!” Stiles called, shoving his hands in his pockets in case there was any blood on them from Jackson.

Noah didn’t so much as blink. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? It—It’s a club. We were clubbing, you know? At…the club.”

Noah turned to look at _Jungle_ ’s front door, then back at Stiles. “It’s not exactly your type of club.”

Stiles froze. Oh, god no. Werewolves and their stupid drama had taken his best friend away from him, had given him nightmares and the worst anxiety he’d had in years. And now it was taking this away from him too? He didn’t even get to choose?

“Uh…Dad, there’s a conversation we need to—”

“You’re not gay, son.”

Though his dad’s tone was gentle, Stiles felt like he’d been slapped.

“Thanks dad, I know. I’m bi.” His voice cracked on the last word, but overall, Stiles was a little proud that he’d managed to sound angry instead of wounded.

In the shifting glow of the flashing police lights, Stiles watched his dad’s face go pale. This was _not_ how this was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be trying to balance his terror that his dad would be angry at him with anxiety over the half-dead lizard boy waiting in his Jeep with his werewolf best friend.

“W—what?”

Stiles pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms, mirroring Noah. “I’m bisexual, Dad.”

The ambulance carrying Danny and another guy drove away, while Stiles’ dad stared at him in shock. “Oh.”

When nothing else came, no yelling or arguing, Stiles twitched. “Is…is that okay?”

His dad shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears. “What? Yes! Of course, it is. Stiles, son, you—I shouldn’t have—you know that it’s—that I love you no matter—” Apparently giving up on words, Noah yanked him in for a hug so tight Stiles stopped breathing for a second. He could barely hear his dad’s whispering over the rushing in his ears. “I love you, Mischief. Okay?”

He nodded into his dad’s shoulder until the hug was over, and felt a little floaty when he was finally let go just enough for Noah to put both hands on his shoulders. “So…let’s try this again. You were here…clubbing?”

Stiles nodded, then nearly smacked himself when the right answer jumped to the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, with Danny. Cus’ he just broke up with his boyfriend, so, you know, we were just trying to take him out and get his mind off things. That’s—that’s it.”

“So, you and Danny aren’t…” his dad hinted.

“No! God, no! Danny would never go out with me.”

His dad squinted. “Are you sure? Wasn’t he your lab partner a while ago?”

In spite of himself, Stiles snorted, “Yeah. _Just_ my lab partner.”

“Listen, Stiles, I—” Noah looked around at the scene he was supposed to be investigating. “I wanna talk about this.”

Stiles put his hands up and shook his head. “But it’s a bad time, I know. Another time, promise. Listen, I gotta go too.” He paused. “Are you gonna be working all night?”

Sighing, Noah nodded. “Yeah. They called me in and I don’t think they’re gonna let me go for a good while. So get to bed at a decent time.”

“Got it!” Stiles backed up, then pointed some finger guns at his dad. “Uh, eat some veggies tonight.”

The exasperated wave off he got was reassuring. Realizing that he’d essentially kidnapped Jackson and had nowhere to put him was decidedly less so.

Driving down the road in the general direction of _away_ from _Jungle_ , Stiles explained, “Even if my dad is working, where am I supposed to put him tomorrow? We have no idea how long we’ll have to keep him, and we won’t be able to move him once he wakes up! What about your house?”

“Not with my mom home!” Scott argued.

“Well you’re the one with the en suite bathroom!” Stiles fussed. “Can’t we just duct tape him to your tub or something?”

Scott stared at him. “No! We’re not _duct taping_ him to my _bathtub_!”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Stiles muttered.

“We just need somewhere to put him until we can figure out what to do with him. Or at least until we can convince him he’s dangerous.”

Rubbing at the steering wheel, Stiles shrugged. “We could call Derek.” He rushed forward before Scott’s glare could turn into more shouting. “He might know somewhere! Plus, he’s the one who kept Jackson from killing Danny!”

“We don’t know that that’s what Jackson was going to do,” Scott spit.

“You’re the one that said he was going to kill someone! Would you make up your mind?”

There was only one more option that Stiles could think of, but it hurt. He made a left turn, and apologized to his dad in his head. “Fine. _Fine._ I have a place to put him.”

“Does your plan involve breaking the law?” Scott asked, suddenly quiet.

Stiles tipped his head. “By now, don’t you think that’s a given?”

“I was just trying to be optimistic.”

“Don’t bother.”

Out of respect for his dad that he couldn’t quite honor at the moment, Stiles felt the need to explain to Scott that this was not something that would work under normal circumstances.

Breaking into his dad’s office and stealing a set of keys to one of the police vans, then driving said police van out to the middle of the Preserve all without getting caught would have normally been impossible. His dad wasn’t stupid, and the cops at the precinct were careful. It was just that Beacon Hills was a pretty small place, and they’d downsized considerably, so when seven people were attacked at _Jungle,_ the majority of the police force went to check on it. Which left the station practically unguarded and the police vans completely ignored.

To be fair, it wasn’t like they ever _used_ the police vans. Stiles wasn’t exactly taking the van away from anyone else who might need it. He was just…borrowing it. They’d get it right back to its spot in the parking lot behind the station as soon as they’d figured out how to keep Jackson from murdering people.

Scott was pretty unimpressed with Stiles’ explanation and continued handcuffing the newly re-pantsed Jackson into the seat, propping him into a sitting position.

“So, what do we do now?” Scott asked, climbing out and closing the doors.

Stiles shrugged. “We wait for him to wake up.”

—

Around dawn, Stiles left Scott to guard the van and drove into town to retrieve Jackson’s phone from Allison and some food from a gas station. At least Scott was buying this time, because Stiles was still a little short on cash after buying those rink keys.

He returned victorious, with a pepperoni and salami sandwich for Scott and some options for his new pet. The sound of his Jeep must’ve woken Jackson up finally, because he’d only been standing there for a minute when a shout came from the van.

“Stilinski! McCall! I’m gonna _kill_ you!”

It was a little sad that Jackson didn’t know how close to the mark he was with that.

Grabbing his backpack, Stiles edged over to the door of the van and peered through the window. No scales, just smears of dried blood that Stiles couldn’t get off with the blanket.

Unlocking it, he climbed inside and began to dig for the sandwiches he’d bought, only to jump back as Jackson reached forward. He’d already been paralyzed once.

“Let me out! Now!” Jackson snarled.

Stiles shoved the backpack onto the bench beside him. “You know, I put those pants on you, alright, buddy? One leg at a time.” Jackson scowled at him, but backed off. “Getting up close and personal with your junk wasn’t exactly the highlight of my day, so don’t think this is fun for me either.”

On a roll, he continued. “You know, we’re actually doing you a favor?”

Jackson shook his wrists in the handcuffs. “This is doing me a favor?”

“Yes! You’re—you’re killing people, Jackson. To _death_. Have you looked at yourself? You’re lucky that the blood all over you right now is just _yours_ , for once.”

Immediately, Jackson looked down at himself, finally noticing the stains on his skin from where Derek had apparently ripped into his abdomen. “What…” he whispered. “What did you do to me?”

“Wasn’t me,” Stiles corrected. “It was actually Derek, but you know, he was trying to keep you from killing your best friend, so I don’t blame him. Plus there was the whole thing where you nearly gave Erica brain damage, paralyzed him, and trapped us both in a pool for two hours. I think he’s holding a grudge.

“Until we figure out how to stop you,” he continued, “you’re gonna stay in here. I’m sorry. Now, do you want the ham and cheese, or the turkey club?” He held up the sandwiches on either side of his head.

After a second of wide-eyed staring, Jackson lifted a finger to point at the turkey club. “You’re serious.”

Stiles handed over the wrapped gas station sandwich and began to uncrinkle the cellophane covering his own, talking as he worked. “Dude, werewolves exist. You were _bitten_ by one. Why the hell would I _lie_ about something like this?”

“But, how? I don’t—I don’t remember.” Jackson made no move to unwrap his own food. “Stilinski, am I the kanima you guys keep talking about?”

Chewing for a second, Stiles held up a finger. “First,” he said through his food, “call me fucking Stiles or I swear to god _I’ll_ bite you. Second, yes. Apparently, something went wrong when Derek bit you—which by the way, are you _stupid?_ You went to a new Alpha and asked for the bite? He was literally incapable of saying no. You didn’t give him a _choice_ , you bastard. Anyway, when he bit you, something went wrong. Now you turn into a lizard with paralytic goo.”

Jackson blinked down at his food again, then dropped it to the ground. “I—I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Startling, Stiles put his food down beside him and reached for Jackson’s shoulders. “Dude, breathe. Just breathe. Look, it’s not like…it’s not like we blame you. I mean, you don’t even know you’re doing it. Nobody blamed Ginny when she got possessed and killed a bunch of chickens.”

Still nearly heaving in air, Jackson glared at Stiles. “Do _not_ compare me to a Harry Potter character, Stilinski. This isn’t a game!”

“You’re right!” Stiles shouted. “It isn’t. It’s life or death. Which is why you are _staying_ _here_ , where you can’t hurt anyone. Look, it’s all taken care of. I even texted your parents.” He pulled Jackson’s phone out of his pocket and showed Jackson the message he’d sent.

_Stayed at a friend’s house last night. Everything fine. Love you._

Jackson snatched at the phone so quickly Stiles almost didn’t pull it away fast enough. “Are you really that brain dead? Like my parents would ever believe that was from me!”

Confused, Stiles looked at the message again. “What? I even checked to see whether you use shorthand or not. It’s perfect.”

“No, it’s not,” Jackson said. “Give it here and let me fix it before the entire police department shows up.”

Still, holding the phone out of Jackson’s limited reach, Stiles frowned. “What, you’re going to _help_ me hide you?”

Rolling his eyes so hard it had to hurt, Jackson slammed his head back against the wall of the van. “Stilinski, I know everyone likes to make fun of how completely heartless I am, but I’m not actually going to run around killing people if I can help it. So give me the phone, and let me fix this. Now!” He jangled the chain connecting his cuffs pointedly.

Slowly, Stiles held the phone out. “Let me check it before you send it, or I’m taking the sandwich back.”

* * *

It was a little sad that Derek knew where the most comfortable place to sit was on top of the high school roof. He hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough reason for Isaac, Erica, and Boyd not to go to school, so his only option was to follow them there and keep an ear on them. So far they’d made three stalker jokes about him and Erica fussed that she hadn’t been allowed to drive the Camaro to school as a birthday present.

Her mood sank even lower when the Betas discovered that Stiles hadn’t come to classes, and only a promise to take her driving in the evening would satisfy her.

Derek was really struggling with telling Erica no. Or really, telling any of his Betas no.

It wasn’t as though he’d been the perfect kid, but Derek was sure he’d been better behaved than Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were. Talia Hale would stand for nothing less.

Not for the first time, Derek empathized with why his mother was so against biting humans. It wasn’t just because they were weaker, like she normally said. Humans didn’t have the same values. They didn’t understand how important the hierarchy within a pack was, how important strength was, and obedience and loyalty. If his mother had kicked someone out of the pack, not that she’d ever let a random human join in the first place, there wasn’t a single Beta who would dare disobey her orders to stay away. Let alone try to mix her scent with theirs to gain her favor.

He’d thought Erica had lost his jacket, was ready to go to her house and hunt it down, and then Stiles had shown up in the street wearing it like it was no big deal. Derek hadn’t told his Betas about the importance of scenting so they could manipulate him. Yet here he was, wearing a jacket soaked in Stiles’ scent, because there wasn’t a good way to get it cleaned. Betas weren’t supposed to look so smug all the time, he was sure, and they weren’t supposed to make him feel so guilty for taking away their little playmate that he gave in to stupid requests.

It was a betrayal of his own biology. Being surrounded by the scent of the hyperactive teenager made it _literally_ impossible for Derek to be angry with him. But he’d have to hose the leather down inside and out to get it off, and Derek wasn’t about to ruin his brother’s jacket just to spite Stiles Stilinski.

He was nothing like Peter’s human wife, Prue. Talia had only let her join the pack because Peter threatened to walk out otherwise, and even then she was kept on the fringes. She wasn’t invited to meetings or full moon runs and his mom had usually just pretended she didn’t exist. The bond was the only sign that she was pack.

Prue had been kind and she’d never questioned Talia’s orders. At least, not in front of Derek. She’d always reminded Derek to listen to his mother, even when it meant leaving Prue out of pack gatherings or activities.With the tension between wolves and humans high, everyone had their own opinions on whether Peter and Prue’s son Bastian would be a wolf.

It’d been a hot debate in the Hale house, but only out of Prue and Peter’s earshot. Every time Bastian seemed to respond to something he shouldn’t have been able to hear, or woke up out of a nap for no reason, someone would mention how Cora had been just the same. Lucas liked to claim that he’d shown fang as a toddler, which was completely unheard of, but it didn’t stop Derek from staring at Bastian’s gums when it was his turn to babysit, wondering if he’d have to grow his human teeth first or if they’d just shoot out when he got too angry.

Derek growled down at the gravel that covered the roof. He didn’t want to think about this. He just needed to get through the day until he could take Erica driving, then go hunting for the kanima again.

To pass the time, he slipped off the offending jacket and hung it on a pipe, hoping the wind would dissipate the anxiety and Adderall clinging to the leather, then dropped to the ground and began a round of pushups. Pain kept him shifted down, so he ignored how the sharp rocks dug into his hands and cleared his mind of everything but the mantra his mother had taught him. The one he’d whispered with Laura until they fell asleep in the middle of a hotel mattress the night of the fire, and every night after that for the next six years.

Alpha, Beta, Omega.

* * *

“Scales?” Jackson drawled. “Like a fish?”

Stiles had long since stretched out his legs to Jackson’s bench, getting as comfortable as possible while in a metal box. “No, more like a reptile. Less herring, more crocodile? And your claws have this goo that paralyzes people—”

“Wait, that crap that Derek made me _eat_? That was mine? From my—it was mine?”

Jackson looked a little green, but he’d been that color since Stiles dropped the “you’re-a-lizard” bomb, so he just pushed forward. “Yup. It’s like a venom or something. Turns out that when you’re actually you, you’re not immune to it.”

“You said that I paralyzed _him_?” Jackson checked, screwing with the cuffs of the hoodie he’d borrowed from Stiles. “In a pool or something?”

“Well, technically we think you were after me, but he’s a little overprotective, so you swiped him instead.”

“Fucking good. He’s a piece of shit,” Jackson snapped with venom of a different kind.

Stiles sat up. “Woah, what’s your problem with Derek? He gave you the bite, right? You’re the one that ran off.”

Jackson snorted. “Is that what he told you? That bastard threw me in the _river!_ I woke up in the middle of nowhere with my clothing ripped to shreds. He tried to kill me!”

“Dude, no way,” Stiles said. At the murderous look his words incited, he put a hand up. “I’m not saying he didn’t throw you in a river, that definitely sounds like Derek. I’m saying he wasn’t trying to kill you. I mean, he _literally_ couldn’t have. Look, that was his first night as an Alpha.” He backtracked a little more when Jackson’s brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s like, the leader of the pack. Like, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Scott are all Betas. Derek _was_ a Beta, but when he killed Peter he became an Alpha. An Alpha without a pack, to boot. See, apparently Alphas need pack or they pretty much go insane, like Peter did. So, when you asked for the bite while Derek was still freaking out, it was biologically impossible for him to turn you down. He couldn’t have tried to kill you. He needed you too much.” Stiles threw his hands up to finish his speech.

Unimpressed, Jackson spread his hands what little distance they would go. “Then why did I almost end up sleeping with the fish?”

Stiles frowned. “Uh…no idea. What actually _happened_ when you were bitten?”

“Nothing. I mean, nothing I remember.” Jackson ducked his head down to reach his hands and rubbed at his hair. “I asked for the bite, he gave me a total creeper smile, there were teeth in my side, and then I just…I think I blacked out or something.”

Unthinking, Stiles let the engine of his mind rev a little. “Okay, well that must’ve been when things went wrong. Isaac _definitely_ didn’t pass out, and Derek would have told me if Erica or Boyd had issues either. But not everyone who gets the bite lives.” Stiles scowled. “He would have _told_ you that if you’d waited like a day. He probably thought he’d killed you on accident and freaked. How was he supposed to know you were busy turning into a lizard?”

Suddenly, Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘Derek would have told you?’ I thought you and McCall hated him.”

Stiles balked. “I mean, Scott’s definitely not a fan. It’s a work in progress.”

“And you? You talk about this stuff like you know for sure. Like Derek’s been telling you. Why would Derek be overprotective of _you_? And what would waiting a day have done for me? If Derek didn’t have a pack, then it shouldn’t have mattered when I asked for the bite.”

It was hard not to shrink under Jackson’s intense gaze. Once again, Stiles needed to stop forgetting that Jackson was a _smart_ bully. With a glance toward the window in the door of the van, Stiles shook his hands out and gave in. “Fine, but you can’t tell anyone, got it? Especially not Scott. If you do, I swear to god I’ll—I’ll throw you back in that river myself, and we just found out the kanima can’t even swim, so…”

Jackson waved his hand and leaned back like he was waiting for a bedtime story. “Yeah, yeah. Just tell me what you did that was so bad you couldn’t even tell your precious McCall.”

“I—I joined Derek’s pack too.”

In an instant, Jackson jerked forward, his chains clanking. “Are you kidding me? You’re a werewolf too?”

“No! I’m still as human as it gets,” Stiles said. “I joined his pack as a human…the same night he bit you, actually. I didn’t know at the time, though, I swear, man. I’d have made him fish you out. But having a pack member that wasn’t currently unconscious grounded him. If you’d asked the next day or something, he would have actually been able to explain all this shit to you.”

Shaking his head, Jackson asked, “How can you be in the pack if you’re not a werewolf?”

Stiles shrugged. “Derek mentioned that there were humans in his parent’s pack when he was younger. I just told him I’d be a sort of temporary pack member to keep him sane for a while, and it turned out it was supposed to be permanent. Only, then he kicked me out so it doesn’t matter.”

“He kicked you out? What happened to needing you?”

“Once he had three Betas of his own? Not so much. I think he thinks I’m a danger to his authority or something,” Stiles said. “Anyway, I picked up a lot of info from him, and the others fill me in when they come see me behind Derek’s back. It’s over, it’s done with. I’m not in his pack anymore, so just don’t tell Scott.”

Rolling his shoulders, Jackson settled again. “I don’t know, Stilinski. He still sounds like a dick.”

A familiar pang of fury burst in Stiles’ chest. “Just shut up, Jackson. You have no idea what he went through!”

“Yeah, actually, I do!” Jackson shouted. “He gave me a great little taste of what his life was like when he dug his claws into my neck. He had _everything_. A massive family, a place in the pack. Do you have any idea what the Hale house was even like before the fire? It was a fucking castle, compared to mine. Derek grew up with a silver spoon up his ass, and he’s still a total dickhead.”

“His entire family _died_ , you jackass!” Stiles cried. If standing up were an option, he would have. “They were burned to death right in front of him! Then his sister was murdered by his uncle and sliced in half by hunters, and he was tortured for a week by the homicidal bitch that lit the first flame. The same night he escaped, he had to kill his last remaining family member just to make sure he wouldn’t be slaughtered like the rest of his family. He has _no one_ , now. Can you just for _once_ stop thinking about the money?”

For the first time, Stiles saw Jackson cowed. Heaving deep breaths, Stiles glared down at the floor and waited for his heart rate to slow down. Maybe Erica had been right, about there still being a pack bond, because Stiles was sure that wasn’t his usual flavor of anger.

When he got sick of the uncomfortable silence, Jackson spoke up again. “What else did I have? Besides the scales and claws and shit?”

Stiles sighed. “You had a tail, if that’s what you mean.”

“Could I do anything with it?”

“Not as far as I know. You just sort of whipped people in the face with it.”

“Nice.”

Eventually, Stiles checked Jackson’s phone to see that school was out, and he helped Jackson get out of the van long enough to piss behind a tree, then handcuffed him back in. It was way easier when Jackson was awake. A while after, Stiles nearly managed to give himself a heart attack at the sound of a couple soft thumps on the side of the van. His dad would never have been so gentle, so after a second, Stiles settled.

“It’s all good, he’s playing along!” He reached over and shoved the door open. “Tell me you brought food or something.”

Allison appeared in the doorway, waving gently to Jackson. “Uh, no. Was I supposed to?”

“Nope, I’m just hopeful and we’re both starving. Maybe Scott will bring pizza.”

Jackson snorted. “Like he’d think of that.”

Something about Allison was off, and she shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the ground. “If he agreed to be here, why is he still handcuffed? Couldn’t we let him go?”

“No,” Jackson said. “No way. I’m keeping these on until you guys figure out how to fix me.”

Stiles stretched as best he could, then climbed out into the chilly air. Keeping the door of the van closed had helped keep them from freezing, but only just barely. “Ally, do you have a blanket or something in your car for him? I don’t wanna listen to his ranting if he gets hypothermia.”

As Allison led Stiles away to her car, Jackson called from the van, “Like you’re one to talk!”

Once they were a good distance away, Stiles reached for Allison’s arm. “Hey, you good?”

“I—there’s something I didn’t tell you,” Allison whispered. “About Derek getting taken by Kate.”

Stiles frowned. “What? What do you mean?”

Allison looked up at him, holding her hands in front of her mouth like she either wanted to warm them up with her breath or stop her own words from escaping. “I saw him. She—she took me down there to see him, and she electrocuted him. He was strung up; it looked like a movie or something. Can’t we just let Jackson go?”

Swallowing was hard when Stiles’ meager breakfast wanted to force its way up his throat. “No, Allison. We can’t. He’s here because he wants to be here, though, you get that right? I told him what was going on and he _wants_ to stay.”

Nodding, Allison popped her trunk and reached inside, pulling out a flannel emergency blanket.

“Is something else wrong?” Stiles asked, dreading the answer.

Allison was still tense, keeping the blanket tucked against her chest. “My parents want to murder my boyfriend, my aunt killed Derek’s entire family and tortured him for ages and thought it was funny, my grandfather wants to kill every werewolf he can find, and I’m being trained to the do same thing. What—what is even happening? When did this become my life?”

Chewing on his lip, Stiles twitched. “Uh, can I—people have been really into hugs lately, so…”

Admittedly, it was easier when Allison just threw herself at him, crushing the blanket between them and burying her face in his shoulder. Stiles needed to wear a t-shirt that just said, _Open for hugs_ at this point. Actually, he might have one in his closet.

“Uh…I don’t know how to make this better. But hey, I’ll be moral support any time you need. We can go for one of those terrifying night drives, or, here’s a thought, you could just come to my place and we could chill at zero miles an hour.” He took a deep breath and squeezed Allison around the shoulders. “It can’t be like this forever.”

It was way warmer once they’d all piled into the van. At least, for all that Jackson had been totally manipulating Scott by hanging out with Allison last month, he did actually get along with her.

“This is what you wanted to talk about, that night in the car, wasn’t it?” Jackson said. “When that thing jumped on the roof?”

Allison was nodding, but Stiles waved his hand. “Wait, wait. When were you guys in a car? What jumped on the roof?”

Allison shrugged. “Uh, it was a couple months ago, right after we got trapped in the school. I was trying to figure out what was going on with my family, and…we got interrupted by something hitting the roof of Jackson’s car.”

Stiles smiled shakily. “It didn’t happen to be a full moon that night…did it?”

Jackson and Allison stared at each other, then at Stiles. “Yes…” they muttered in unison.

Cringing, Stiles covered his eyes. “Yeah…that was Scott. He was kind of out of it.” He pointed at Jackson. “You have Derek to thank for still having all of your limbs, by the way. You are stupidly lucky that he was able to beat Scott back to human.”

“He beat up Scott?” Allison gasped.

“Oh, a few times. It was the only way to keep him human for the first month or so, until he found his anchor. The thing that keeps him grounded.”

“And what’s his anchor?” she asked.

Stiles stared at her until a blush turned her cheeks a blotchy red.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, yeah, you guys are just sickeningly cute. We get it,” Jackson drawled.

All three of them jumped when the door swung open to reveal Scott’s worried face. “What are you guys doing?”

“Just chillin’,” Stiles said.

He grinned when Allison giggled at his pun.

Scott wasn’t amused, and he glared at Jackson. “Why did you try to kill Danny?”

Instantly, the mood in the car shifted. Jackson tried to spread his hands again. “I _don’t know_. It’s not like I remember when this stuff is happening!”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Scott asked.

Jackson shook his cuffs. “You’re a fucking werewolf, McCall. Do what all the other werewolves do and listen to my heartbeat. I _don’t_ know why I tried to hurt Danny.”

“Did it have something to do with the video he was fixing for you?”

It was Jackson’s turn to blush. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. I _asked_ him to find what was wrong with it. Why would I kill him for doing what I wanted?”

Stiles blinked over at Jackson. “Video? What video?”

“The video he made of himself on his first full moon,” Scott supplied. “He taped himself. Danny said there was a bunch of footage missing that he was trying to get back, but his tablet isn’t in his car! Did you take it, Jackson?”

“No! How could I?” Jackson yelled. “You guys have had me locked up all night!”

Scott slammed the side of his fist into the top of the doorway and went silent.

Slowly, Allison crawled out of the van to stand next to him. “Maybe it wasn’t Jackson who took it. The bestiary said, ‘The kanima seeks a friend.’ That’s what Ms. Morrell translated for me yesterday. What if someone else is helping him?”

“You think someone else knows Jackson is the kanima? And they’re cool with it?” Stiles asked. “Hold on, so someone watched Jackson make a video of himself turning into the kanima, then erased part of it so he wouldn’t know? Who would do that?”

Allison shrugged. “Maybe someone who’s trying to protect him?”

“Would you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Jackson snapped.

Stiles turned to Jackson. “Fine, you answer these questions, then. Huh? What’s that? You have complete amnesia? Well, nevermind, then. Scott, would you get in here? I’m not freezing my ass off just because you wanna do the lean n’ flirt.” He rubbed at his arms. “God, isn’t it supposed to be spring by now?”

Sure enough, Scott was leaning against the door over Allison, smiling at her and muttering cutesy hellos as though they hadn’t been in class together a couple hours ago. Huffing in embarrassment, he climbed in and sat on the floor next to Jackson’s bench, while Allison sat across from him, and they closed the doors.

“I feel fine, Stiles,” Scott said, unzipping his hoodie for good measure.

Allison stuck her tongue out. “That’s just because you’re a heater, Scott.”

Stiles snorted. “Are you kidding me? Scott used to wear like four layers of shirts to school. He shivers in seventy degree weather.”

“Not anymore,” Scott sighed. “Now, I feel like I’m gonna overheat if I wear more than a t-shirt and a hoodie. It sucks.”

Suddenly, Stiles realized the opportunity that having Allison and Scott at the van afforded him. Scrambling to stand up and shove open the door he’d just insisted on closing, Stiles jumped to the ground. “It’s your turn to babysit. Be great practice for the two of you.” He lifted a hand to point at Jackson. “Dude, I’m feeling spaghetti, so that’s what you’re getting.”

Jackson’s eyes widened. “Stilinski, don’t leave me here with them.”

“Do you want food or not, dick-for-brains?”

The look on Jackson’s face was actually desperate. “Definitely food.”

“Awesome, I will return. No promises it’ll be hot though.”

Before Scott could argue, Stiles bolted to his Jeep. If he was out of earshot, he couldn’t listen to the whining from either of them.

Back at his house, Stiles’ first order of business was to strip out of his clothing from the night before, throw a whole load of stuff in the wash, and head to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water not only removed the little smudges of blood from his wrists, but woke him up. Sleeping in the front seat of a van didn’t make for a restful night.

Once he was clean and dry, he redressed in clothing he’d brought to the bathroom with him. After that incident with Isaac, Stiles wasn’t about to wander around in a towel anymore.

“I’m psychic. I must be. Seriously,” he said, when the seat at his desk was taken as he walked back into his room.

Isaac shrugged at him. “Where else am I supposed to go? Derek is teaching Erica how to drive for her birthday, and Boyd went with to flirt with her.”

Stiles tipped his head. “It’s Erica’s birthday?”

“Yup. You’d know that if you were at school today,” Isaac hinted. Then he looked up. “Why weren’t you at school today?”

Much less subtle, much more Isaac. Stiles opened his mouth to come up with a plausible half-lie, then snapped it shut again as he realized he had a totally underutilized option when it came to werewolf lie detectors.

“I’m not telling you.”

Isaac groaned. “Come on, it’s driving Derek nuts. It’s driving Erica nuts, and therefore, it’s driving Boyd and I nuts. If you want back in the pack, don’t you have to tell us crap like this?”

Stiles stomach growling saved him from the inevitably terrible comeback he was going to spit out. Instead, he just turned around and walked out of his room. Technically, if his dad came home and saw Isaac, Stiles couldn’t be arrested for harbouring a fugitive anymore.

Wandering into the kitchen, Stiles checked the cupboards for spaghetti noodles and an unexpired jar of sauce, then started yanking pots and pans out. “You hungry?” he asked.

“Literally always,” Isaac answered.

“Then grab a package of beef out of the freezer. It’s marked ‘beet flavored tofu.’”

“Got it.”

As Stiles browned the beef in a saucepan and boiled the water, he watched Isaac’s eyes grow wide with hunger. It wasn’t until he’d added the spaghetti noodles to the water and the sauce to the meat that it hit him.

He spun around and stared at Isaac. “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal? Or literally anything that doesn’t need to go in a microwave?”

The expression on Isaac’s face disappeared altogether, forming an unbreakable poker face of douchebaggery. “When was the last time you cleaned your room? I can still smell chlorine in it.”

Stiles squinted at him in frustration and turned back to the noodles, stirring viciously as they softened.

He got a weird sense of satisfaction as he piled Isaac’s plate high with food and watched him dig in like an actual animal. It felt good to take care of Isaac. Another one of those pack bond things Derek hadn’t warned him about, great.

Deciding to just roll with it, Stiles filled his own plate and left the rest on the warm burner. Once he’d gotten over the rush of eating properly for the first time that day, he leaned his elbow on the table and pointed at Isaac with his fork the same way his own dad usually did at dinner. “Are you guys still living at the depot?”

“Where else are we supposed to live?” Isaac retorted.

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know, somewhere with hot water and a stove?” He faked a look of excitement. “Maybe even a fridge!” Grabbing another bite of spaghetti, he spoke through it just to see Isaac grimace. “If Derek’s adopting you, don’t they wanna see where you’re gonna be living?”

He wasn’t expecting Isaac to deflate so much, hadn’t realized how much he’d blown himself up like a bullfrog to hide that look of fear. “He’s…he’s been looking at places. But we can’t move anywhere in the open while Allison’s granddad is here. Derek’s already freaking out about giving us rides to school in the morning. He thinks they’re gonna just attack one morning.”

“I honestly wouldn’t put it past them,” Stiles admitted, wincing. “But Allison would give me a heads up if she heard anything, and I’d warn you guys.” He watched Isaac put his fork down, and couldn’t help offering, “If you want more, dude, grab it.”

Isaac just grimaced, so Stiles stood up and stole his plate, taking it over to the stove to refill it and turn off the burner. When he turned around, Isaac’s cheeks were red, but there was no way to tell if it was from embarrassment or annoyance. Either way, he started eating again, so Stiles didn’t particularly care.

He cared a little more when Isaac asked, “Why’d you make so much food anyway? There’s like a metric fuckton of spaghetti in that pot.”

“Who really knows how much spaghetti to cook anyway?” Stiles hedged.

“Did you make food for someone else too?”

It was a little hard to deny when Stiles was putting his dishes in the sink and pulling out tupperware, but Stiles did his best. “Can’t a guy cook in bulk?”

The ringing of the house phone sent Stiles scrambling out of the kitchen, eager for an excuse to not answer any more questions.

“ _Stiles?”_ Scott asked, voice rushed.

Glancing at the kitchen, Stiles tried to hold back whatever Scott was about to say. “Yeah, man, it’s me, but listen—”

“ _Jackson’s gone! He turned into the kanima and just ripped out of the van. There was nothing I could do! Allison already went home to tell her dad, but I don’t know what to do! Stiles, he’s gonna kill someone and it’s my fault!”_

For a moment, Stiles just squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in, or any all powerful being that might be hanging around, that Isaac hadn’t heard what Scott just said. Then, he opened his eyes and made contact with Isaac, who was standing in the doorway to the living room, glaring at him. Not daring to blink, he spoke quietly into the phone. “I will meet you at the station.” Isaac’s eyes flicked to the nearest window, and Stiles shot his hand up, trying to hold him there by sheer force of will. “Just get there and we’ll figure this out.”

He fumbled the phone back into its cradle, and as soon as it clicked into place, he started. “Isaac, please. Please, do _not_ do what I know you’re thinking of doing.”

“Why not?” Isaac asked.

“Because—because I’m asking you not to. I’m asking you to come with me to the station instead. I need your help.”

Isaac’s fingers twitched. “You’re joking, right?”

“No!” Stiles said. “No, I’m not joking. You heard what Scott said. Jackson is out there, and someone’s gonna die, and I need to tell my dad, Isaac. I need to tell him what’s going on, so he doesn’t get himself killed trying to go after the kanima. Come on, man. It’s my dad. Please.”

Stiles was too on edge to even find it funny that Isaac’s growl of frustration was a near perfect mimic of Derek. He just waited until Isaac nodded his head and turned around to go to the front door.

Stiles got ready to leave and out to the Jeep in record time. Isaac was sitting in the passenger seat with the window open, despite the chill.

Stiles didn’t attempt to comment on it, just turned on the Jeep and headed for the station. A block into the drive, Isaac was the one to speak. “Derek was right.”

“A—about what?”

“You can’t have it both ways,” Isaacc growled. “You can’t be friends with Scott and be part of the pack. It’s not about who you hang out with, it’s about Scott going against Derek all the time. You’re either lying to Scott or you’re lying to us. It’s bullshit!”

For a while, Stiles didn’t say anything. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Is the blood in here his?”

Stiles didn’t need clarification. “Yeah, Derek got him pretty good last night.”

“Clearly, not good enough.”

Snapping, Stiles slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Would you just _stop_? Stop acting like this makes sense! You can’t seriously want Jackson to die, can you? He doesn’t even know what he’s doing!”

In an instant, Isaac had gone full fang, glowing eyes, the whole shebang. “He murdered my dad.”

“Your dad was an abusive piece of shit!”

“He was all I had! He was my dad! If it were your dad, would it matter? If your dad hit you and threw things at you, are you telling me you wouldn’t care if someone fucking murdered him?”

Stiles recoiled, stomping on the brake and forcing the car behind them to swerve around to the side. Panting hard, he tightened. His hands squeezed the steering wheel until he couldn’t feel his fingers, he crushed his eyes shut so tight that it hurt, and he ground the brake down to the floor of the footwell. There was no sound, no vision, no scent. Just the pounding of his own heartbeat in his throat.

Eventually, the sound of Isaac calling his name bled into the white space of Stiles’ head, and he opened his eyes. Numb, he gently pressed his foot back on the gas and started driving again. The entire drive to the station, his mother’s screams echoed in his ears.

Scott stood outside the station, speaking into his cell. When Stiles pulled up, he gaped at Isaac’s form.

“Derek doesn’t know, don’t worry about it. Who are you talking to?” Stiles asked, slamming the door of his Jeep, even though he’d had no trouble latching it since Derek’s miracle fixes.

Scott glanced over at Isaac, then held out the phone. “Uh, Allison. She’s at Lydia’s, and apparently Ms. Morrell was wrong about the translation.”

Stabbing the speakerphone, Stiles spoke into the mic. “What is the translation supposed to be, Ally?”

“ _It’s not, ‘the kanima seeks a friend.’ It’s ‘the kanima seeks a master.’ The person who went after Jackson’s video wasn’t just helping him, they’re the one_ making _him kill people. He’s being controlled and he doesn’t even know it.”_

Stiles scowled. “That explains why he broke out. He didn’t get a choice.”

“What if it’s not that he doesn’t know,” Scott suggested, “but that he can’t remember?”

Nodding, Stiles added, “It could be like what happened when Lydia disappeared from the hospital.”

“ _A fugue state_.”

Scott shook his head in surprise. “He’d have to forget everything—the whole murder.”

“ _Cleaning up the blood._ ”

“But he had help with one thing, though…the video. Someone else helped him forget that.”

“ _Then that’s who we need to be looking for. Capturing Jackson isn’t gonna do anything, we have to stop the person controlling him,”_ Allison said.

Stiles pushed the phone into his forehead for a moment, then looked at it. “I’m gonna work on that, then. Listen, Allison, thank Lydia for me, will you? Tell her I’ll pay her back in kind.” He handed the phone back to Scott. “We need to get inside and talk to my dad.”

He let Scott hang up, then put a hand on his shoulder to direct him toward the front door. Almost reflexively, he reached his other hand out to Isaac, but Isaac jerked away from him at the last second, glaring at him with gold eyes. Stiles redirected his movement into cracking his knuckles and banging his fist on his thigh as Scott pushed open the door and they entered the station, heading straight for Stiles’ dad’s office.

Sitting on the couch next to the door inside the room was Jackson, squeaky clean and wearing a police jacket, grinning viciously at Stiles. Standing beside the desk, was Stiles’ dad and Jackson’s father.

“Scott, Stiles,” Noah said. “Perfect timing. Have you met Jackson’s father? Mr. David Whittemore?” He paused for a moment, then added, with feeling, “Esquire.”

Jackson’s eyes flicked yellow in Stiles and Scott’s direction for a split second, then his grin widened. “That means lawyer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the drag queens. Wow, I really hated their appearance in the show. It was creepy and it made them seem super predatory and it was just a really stupid joke. I did my best to make them _actual_ characters here and try to be a little less incredibly offensive. I also changed some dialogue, because I hated that stupid fake id scene.  
> What can I say dude, I have such a soft spot for Derek. I feel a little bad, but it's so much easier for me to write his internal thoughts than it is to write him interacting with people. He's a honey and I love him.  
> I'm also soft for Jackson. I just royally hated seeing him repeatedly ignore Stiles and fight with him and all that bullshit. Jackson knows werewolves exist. He knows this kanima exists. Why the _fuck_ would Stiles lie about it? Jackson is way too smart to be that confused.  
> Anyway, I'm _incredibly_ excited for you to see the next chapter. Hoo BOY I'm excited.


	7. Episode 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter, ooooooh boy, I'm so excited for you all to read it. It's one of those that I just *chef's kiss* It was so fun to add my own shit into it. _Definitely_ one of my more brilliant chapters, if I do say so myself. And I do, say so myself.  
> Content Warning: Discussion of Jackson's birth, which may include upsetting descriptions in reference to his parents. Also, possible content warning to for parental anger? And a Gore warning! Please take care of yourselves.

There were two things Stiles was sure of. One: that was absolutely _not_ Jackson running the body on the couch. It was something, or someone, else. Somehow, whoever was supposed to be controlling the kanima had found a way to control Jackson too. Two: Stiles and Scott were royally _fucked_.

“J—Jackson,” Scott sputtered. “You’re—you’re here.”

Jackson’s father perked up, stepping in front of Jackson and obscuring Stiles’ view as he glared at them. “What makes you think you have the right to speak to my son? What makes you think you have any rights at _all_ at the moment? I could have you in handcuffs right now.”

Stiles turned to his dad instinctively, expecting him to disagree, to remind Jackson’s dad that Scott _couldn’t_ be arrested, that Stiles couldn’t. But his dad stayed silent, looking at Stiles like he was a complete stranger. Real fear shot through Stiles’ heart and he stumbled back, bumping into Isaac. Though he could have just let Stiles trip, with how pissed he’d seemed, Isaac caught Stiles’ arms and straightened him. The flutter of movement caused Mr. Whittemore’s attention to snap over to them. He lifted a hand and pointed over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Is this the kind of kid your son hangs out with then, Sheriff?” he said, turning to Stiles’ dad. “Ex-fugitives? Was he the one to put them up to it, revenge for Jackson’s testimony?”

Heart pounding, Stiles blinked and reached back with one hand, trying to push Isaac even further behind him. “Isaac didn’t do anything wrong. He isn’t a part of this.”

This…this was a whole new kind of horror for Stiles. He was just starting to get used to the werewolf stuff, still adjusting to the kanima stuff. This was just too much.

For as long as Stiles could remember, the law enforcement of Beacon Hills was his life. He knew the names of all the officers at the station, practically lived in its halls and offices, got the coffee machine to work when it crapped out. He’d slept in the station more often than his own house for the months before and after his mother died, refusing to leave his dad’s side.

He’d never been _threatened_ by it before. Sure, he skirted the rules and spent a little more time in the back of the cruiser than most kids his age, but it had never felt like anything but home. For the first time, with Mr. Whittemore red in the face, wearing a perfect suit and tie like he planned to take Stiles to court that instant, Stiles felt unsafe while surrounded by cops.

His dad turned to Jackson with an expressionless face. “Jackson, was Isaac Lahey involved in your kidnapping?”

“Kidnapping?” Stiles burst. A finger came up from his dad, not even pointed in his direction, and Stiles snapped his mouth shut.

Jackson leaned around his own father and gazed at Isaac, confused and far too silent. Finally, his mouth dropped from its grin. “No.”

“Good, then you can just go on home, son,” Noah said.

For a second, Isaac didn’t move. Then, he squeezed Stiles’ wrist and walked away.

Stiles’ sense of unease within the walls of his second home only increased once his pack member left.

They were taken to the interrogation room down the hall. Technically the station had three, but this was the only one that got used. Stiles used to do his homework in it when the rest of the station had too many possible distractions. He’d played with the hook under the table that was meant to have a chain looped through it and never considered that he might one day be at risk of being the one chained up.

The distant, numb expression on his dad’s face was frightening enough to Stiles. That he was sober somehow only made it worse. There was no alcohol to blame.

“Scott!” a voice called. Ms. McCall came up to the door of the room, only to be pulled back again by Stiles’ dad. The door closed on their muttered conversation, and Scott shoved his face into his palms, making no attempt to speak.

A couple minutes later, the door opened again, and all the adults entered. Stiles’ dad went toward the opposite end of the room, getting as far from the table as possible while he white-knuckled a clipboard. Jackson’s dad stayed at the end of the table, one hand gripping the back of an empty chair, the other propped on his hip. Ms. McCall stood by the open door, an arm crossed over her chest while she covered her mouth like she was nauseous.

All eyes were on Stiles and Scott, and it felt like he was being crushed under the weight of their gazes.

“The two of you…” Noah seemed to lose his breath or his will for a second, before pushing on. “The two of you kidnapped Jackson Whittemore, chained him into a police transport vehicle, and left him without sufficient food or water for nearly twenty-four hours. Mr. Whittemore and his son have, for the moment, decided against pressing charges. Instead, they are filing for a restraining order.”

A restraining order. The kind of thing that would keep them so far away from Jackson that they had no chance of stopping whoever was controlling him from making him kill more people. It was a smart plan, and for a second Stiles was reminded of Peter. What if he was possessing Jackson _and_ Lydia somehow, controlling the kanima from beyond the grave? One of the victims _had_ been a hunter, albeit one too young to have had anything to do with the fire.

Stiles didn’t get the chance to muse, as his father continued. “At Mr. Whittemore’s request, I’m going to explain to you exactly what that means, what rules you will follow, and what the punishment will be for breaking any of those rules.” He lifted the clipboard enough to read from it, but his eyes never had to flick down to the page. “You will both sign this form, and in a few days there will be a hearing that Melissa and I will attend. In the meantime, and until further notice, you will not go within fifty feet of Jackson Whittemore. You will not speak to him. You will not approach him. You will not assault or harass him physically or psychologically. If you fail to abide by these rules, Mr. Whittemore will press charges as far as they can go.”

With a clang, he dropped the clipboard onto the table and the room went silent. Stiles lifted his head to see Mr. Whittemore staring at him, and his dad staring at him. Ms. McCall was probably staring at him too, from her position behind them. They clearly expected some kind of response, but Scott’s head was bowed so low his chin touched his hoodie.

Folding his hands, Stiles asked quietly, “What about school?”

He got the barest eye contact from his dad. “You can attend classes while attempting to maintain a fifty foot distance.”

“So, are our teachers gonna know? Like, so we don’t get grouped together?” Stiles was trying to come up with questions that implied he understood the seriousness of the situation, but he already knew the answers. He knew what a restraining order meant, how serious it was.

A single nod, and the clipboard was shoved in front of Stiles. He signed, then initialed, then signed again before passing it to Scott. Scott’s hand barely pushed the pen through his signature and dropped it the moment he was done with the last letter.

Mr. Whittemore pushed his way out of the room with the signed paperwork and headed to the sheriff’s office like he owned the place, leaving Stiles’ dad to walk away.

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Stiles stood and reached for him, barely catching his short sleeve before his dad swung around and held his finger up so close to Stiles’ nose he nearly went cross-eyed. “I said, ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Stiles. Now stay _put_.”

So Stiles stayed, watched his dad leave, and listened to Mrs. McCall yell at Scott right outside the door.

“It’s not just this, although a restraining order is a new low that I didn’t think that you would reach quite this soon. It’s everything on top of it. The completely bizarre behavior, the late nights coming home, having to beg Mr. Harris for you to make up that Geometry test that you missed—”

Scott’s first words since getting silenced by Mr. Whittemore were, “I missed a Geometry test?”

Ms. McCall’s temper rose. “Really, Scott? Really? I have to ground you. I am grounding you. You are grounded.”

Stiles padded up to the door and leaned out, uncomfortable with the idea of just watching Scott’s argument with his mom, but more worried about them leaving before he could get Scott to help him.

“What about work?” Scott asked.

“Fine, other than work,” Ms. McCall responded. “And no T.V.”

“The T.V.’s broken.”

“Then no computer.”

“I need the computer for school.”

Ms. McCall practically growled, rolling her head in frustration and catching a glimpse of Stiles on her way around. “Then no Stiles.”

Stepping forward, Stiles held out a hand, “What—no Stiles?”

They were already getting banned from being anywhere near Jackson, how were they supposed to get anything done if he couldn’t get near Scott either?

“No Stiles!” Ms. McCall repeated at Scott. “And no more car privileges, give me your keys.” When Scott just stared at her, she stomped one foot and shouted, “Give them to me!”

With a jolt, Scott yanked his keys out of his pocket and handed them over. Melissa didn’t take the time to separate out his car key and just shoved them into her purse. Turning to get Stiles within her view, she pointed a finger in the direction of the entrance. “I’m going to get the car. Scott, you will meet me outside in exactly two minutes. Do you understand me?”

Again, Scott didn’t respond, and Ms. McCall’s voice rose again. “I said, ‘Do you understand?’”

“Yes, yeah. I—I understand,” Scott spluttered.

As she walked away, Stiles shook his head and left the room entirely to join Scott in the hall. “Scott, what about my dad?”

“What _about_ your dad? Did you see her?” Scott moaned. “I’m the worst son ever.”

Stiles threw a hand up. “I’m not exactly winning any prizes either, but this is kind of more important than that, Scott. We need to tell my dad, and he won’t believe me if you aren’t there.”

Scott shook his head. “I don’t have time for that, Stiles. My mom said two minutes. If I don’t get out there she’ll go ballistic.”

“And if you don’t help me tell my dad, people will actually die. Scott, I don’t have anyone else, Isaac _left_.”

“What was he doing here in the first place?”

“He’s practically homeless; he showed up at my house and I gave him dinner, what do you want from me, Scott? I need your help!”

Glancing at his phone, Scott began to back up. “I can’t, Stiles. At least, not tonight. Jackson’s parents are gonna take him home, so he should be safe tonight. And I can’t screw up these midterms either, or they’ll hold me _back_ , Stiles. I can’t—I can’t do this right now.”

He left, and Stiles wandered back into the interrogation room, at a loss. The table was cold where Stiles planted his hands and leaned, barely warming under his touch.

What was he supposed to do now? There were so many things going on at once, his head was spinning. Lydia’s possession and Jackson’s possession might be linked, but they might not. Somehow he’d completely forgotten about midterms tomorrow. The Argents were probably still out for Derek’s blood, which put Boyd, Erica, and Isaac at risk too. For that matter, he’d royally pissed Isaac off, and in moments Derek would know that Stiles was lying to them. Oh, and Stiles’ dad thought he was a _kidnapper_.

There was a small rap on the door, and Stiles spun around. Mickey, one of the older officers at the station, with graying hair and deep crow’s feet from so many hours squinting down at paperwork, stood in the doorway. He was frowning, and he shook his head softly as he said, “Your pops is waiting for you in his office.”

“Where’d Jackson go?” Stiles asked. He flinched when Mickey’s face hardened. “I mean, I’m supposed to keep the fifty foot distance, right? So, his dad took him home?”

Slowly, Mickey nodded. “You should be getting to your pops.”

Stiles nodded too, sliding past Mickey’s form and stepping down the hall. Every officer he passed looked away, like they’d all made some sort of pact to ignore him. His throat had gone dry, but Stiles wasn’t sure anyone would appreciate him grabbing a bottle of water from the break room.

At the last second, when his dad’s door had come into view, Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, prepared for it to be another officer wanting to give him their own little scolding, and yelped when Isaac stared at him.

“I thought you left.”

Isaac shrugged. “I just sat in the car. It still stinks.”

For a moment, Stiles’ fear thawed. “What is it with you and smells?”

Another shrug. “Derek says I have a sensitive nose. Are you still gonna tell him?”

“Who? Derek?”

Isaac tipped his head toward the door. “The sheriff.”

Stiles looked over too, then back at Isaac. “Uh, yeah. I have to.”

“I’ll help.” Isaac let go and crossed his arms. “But I’m still pissed at you.”

Carefully, Stiles nodded. “Noted. Listen—” He couldn’t help another glance at the door. “You should wait out here first. He—It—Just wait here. And, uh, no eavesdropping. Cover your ears or something.” He honestly wasn’t sure if he was making the request more for his own benefit or Isaac’s.

Once Isaac had dropped into a chair next to the door and popped in a pair of earbuds he’d pulled out of a pocket, plugging it into his phone and tapping open some music, there wasn’t anything left for Stiles to do but actually enter his dad’s office.

His dad was behind the desk, but he wasn’t sitting. He was leaning on his fists, and his eyes shot to Stiles as soon as the door cracked open, watching him until it’d closed again with Stiles on the inside.

“Hey—”

“Quiet. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any more of the excuses or the lies or the bullshit.” Noah straightened up, but his hands remained balled into fists at his sides. “I have _limits_ , Stiles. An eye-witness put you at the campgrounds the same night that a man was burned alive in that area. Another saw your car outside the Long Term Care facility the same night that the cameras were deactivated and the front office vandalized. The same night that you skipped your first lacrosse game. I want _answers_!” 

He put up a hand, barely managing a pointing finger for a second before he went back to a fist. “And I swear to god, Stiles, if you open your mouth to say anything but the absolute truth I will arrest you myself. There are people _dead_. You were there when Lydia was attacked. You came out of the woods barely five minutes before she followed, naked, without a clue what’d happened to her. You were in the station, and at the garage. Kidnapping a classmate of yours might be the only thing you’ve gotten caught for, but there are a half a dozen cases that your name shows up in!”

Stiles blinked and blinked again, trying and failing to swallow past the lump at the base of his throat. “What are you trying to say? You think I destroyed the LTC place for fun? You think I sicc’d an animal on Lydia for refusing to date me? You think I killed the mechanic for shafting me on my Jeep’s repairs?”

“You tell me! What am I supposed to think? Am I supposed to just keep telling people to leave your name out of things? I shouldn’t be so used to my son lying to me that I can’t even say for sure that I know he’s innocent! When was the last time you told me the truth? About _anything_?” His dad picked up a file from the desk and waved it once before chucking it to the side so the papers went flying. “You were at the club last night, Stiles. Where Jackson’s best friend was attacked with some kind of paralytic. The best friend you told me you were there with. Was that a lie too? Tell me the truth, Stiles, did you pretend to come out to me so I would let you leave?”

“No!” Stiles shouted. “No! I didn’t. Why would I do that?”

Noah shoved more files off his desk, creating a small sea of casework on the floor. Pictures fluttered into view: the burnt body from the campgrounds, what was left of the mechanic, stills of Lydia’s bite mark, still gushing blood.

“Why would you do _any_ of this? You stole from the station, you stole from _me_ , so you could abduct Jackson Whittemore and leave him half dressed in a metal vehicle for an entire day in near freezing temperatures! Were you trying to kill him?”

“That’s not what happened!” Stiles retreated, nearly toppling onto the couch when he backed into its arm. “It wasn’t—I didn’t—I—I…”

Stiles’ stomach revolted, and he landed hard on his knees in front of the trash can beside the door, heaving up his spaghetti from earlier.

“ _Stiles_ ,” his dad cried, dashing over to him. Stiles couldn’t think beyond shaking his head and moaning into the garbage. His dad’s form covered him, a hand petting over the back of his head as gentle as his voice before had been rough.

When he’d stopped feeling like his stomach was turning itself inside out, Stiles lifted his face and blinked through tears at the door. “Isaac.”

Immediately, it shoved open and Isaac entered the room, phone and earbuds dangling from his fingers.

Coughing, Stiles sat up on his knees and accepted the tissue his dad passed him, blowing his nose and wiping at his mouth. He rubbed his sweatshirt sleeve over his eyes to clear them. He always cried when he threw up; it was infuriating.

“Dad, put your gun on the desk,” Stiles said, no strength to his voice. With a little tip, he was on his ass, back propped against the front of the couch. Isaac closed the door behind him and flicked the blinds on the window for good measure.

“What?”

Stiles wanted to be angry. He wanted to bite his words out and get this over with, but there was no bite left in him. “If you want me to tell you the truth, put the gun on the desk and get away from it. Just fucking do it.”

He could see his dad’s mouth twitch downward when he swore, but it didn’t matter when Noah got up, unclipped his gun holster altogether, and dropped it on the desk.

“There. You happy?”

“Back up.”

“Stiles, this isn’t—”

Stiles managed to raise his voice. “Just back _up!_ Please?”

Sighing his dad put his hands up and took a few steps away from the desk.

“Isaac, go for it.”

He watched his dad’s face, rather than Isaac’s, but he still knew the moment Isaac shifted. As he’d suspected, his dad’s hands jerked toward the missing gun, mouth dropping open in a shout. “Stiles, get back!”

Stiles just reached back to prop his elbows on the couch and push himself up to his feet, scowling slightly when Isaac went to his side and grabbed at him, hands clawed. “Oh, knock it off. Don’t coddle me when I know you’re mad.”

“What—He—He broke the door to the cell,” Noah said, dumbfounded.

“Uh, yes.”

“W—werewolf. Like Lon Chaney.”

“Actually, yeah.”

“So…it was a full moon that night?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re still bisexual.”

“God, yes! Jesus, dad. Why would I lie about being queer?”

His dad stepped forward, only to retreat again when Isaac growled, grabbing Stiles’ wrist sharply. Stiles shoved him away again. “I’m good, man. It’s all good. Put the fangs away, please.”

To prove it, he stepped over to his dad himself. He barely got in range before being pulled in for a hug, just as tight and desperate as the one outside the club had been. Possibly tighter, since Stiles couldn’t quite breathe. “Pops…” he wheezed.

His dad let go. “Sorry. I—you—” he spun and looked at Isaac. “You, are going to need to explain this.”

Isaac had shifted back to human, and he went over to climb onto the couch, perching on the arm with his feet on the cushion. “I barely know what’s going on. Stiles is the one that’s been around the whole time. Well, him or Scott. Or Derek.”

Stiles waved a hand in front of his throat to tell Isaac to shut up, but stopped when his dad looked at him. “Uh…you might wanna sit down too.”

“I managed to stay standing when a teenage boy turned into a werewolf in my office, I think I can manage the rest of it.” But his dad still went around the desk and sat down, fussing with one of the de-foldered files and shuffling the papers back into a semi-organized pile.

Inspired, Stiles dropped to the ground in front of the rest of the paper mess on the floor, making sure that his face could be seen over the desk. Slowly, he began dragging papers toward himself and putting them in little piles according to the case numbers printed on them.

“So, you remember Laura Hale’s body from a few months ago?”

* * *

Derek returned to the depot with Boyd and Erica to find Isaac gone.

“Come on, Derek. You know where he went,” Erica sighed, rubbing at her eye a little sleepily. She’d been hyperactive the entire day and was only just beginning to crash now that she wasn’t getting to drive the Camaro anymore.

“Yes, I do. Why do you think I’m angry?”

Boyd lifted a hand to gesture toward the door. “If you’re that pissed, why don’t you go get him?”

Because Derek hadn’t moved once he pointlessly pushed open the door to Isaac’s room to check that he wasn’t inside, even though he would’ve been able to hear him anywhere inside the building or parking lot. He’d just slammed the door again and walked over to stand next to the train car, sending a quick text.

_Get your ass back here._

Derek didn’t go get Isaac, because…he didn’t want to. As if he weren’t slapped in the face every time Stiles went near his pack with the fact that he was just an awkward twenty-two-year-old hanging out with teenagers. The last thing he needed was to show up at the Stilinski house and watch Isaac cling to Stiles like a limpet, proving that although he’d let Derek adopt him, there was no doubt who he was more loyal to.

Rather than say it out loud though, he turned to Boyd. “I’m not chasing him around town, making myself a target for the Argents.”

It was only more frustrating when Boyd’s eyes went kind. “He’s probably just going to ask why Stiles missed school.”

“Yes, because that’s what you three are worried about. Why your favorite toy human didn’t show up to school. Not the kanima or the Argents.”

Erica dropped heavily onto a crate. “God, Derek. Obviously we’re worried about the kanima and the Argents. But you’re the one that made Stiles give Isaac a ride to school yesterday.”

“Because he needed to show up with someone inconspicuous. I wasn’t giving any of you permission to go near him. No matter what tricks you play, Stiles isn’t your pack member. He’s just a human.”

“We were humans too, though, and you liked us enough to give us the bite!” Erica cried. Groaning, she flopped down to outright lay on the crate. “Can I go home yet?”

Derek grimaced. “Not yet. We still don’t know who the kanima is or why it showed up at Scott’s house.”

“Maybe it was after Lydia, since she’s immune,” Boyd mused.

“Yes, but _why_ is she immune? That doesn’t _happen_.”

A hand rose from Erica’s form, carefully tipped in red nails. “You’re not gonna like this, but Stiles would know.”

“Exactly _why_ would Stiles know that?” Derek snapped.

“Because he’s been obsessed with her since like the third grade. Pretty sure he knows everything from her allergies to her blood type,” Erica responded, using her raised fingers to gesture. “It’s both creepy and impressive. If anybody knows whether she has some kind of weird genetic mutation that might make her impossible to paralyze, he does.”

For a moment, Derek clenched his jaw. How was this one, ridiculous, human teenager so involved in so many things? “ _Fine_. Ask him what he knows tomorrow. Now get up, and I’ll take you home.”

The other hand lifted to match, wrists floppy. “I don’t want to walk. Carry me.”

Boyd snorted.

“Up.”

“Yes, _Alpha_.” Erica slowly dragged herself upward and stood. “Are we supposed to call you that?”

Derek fought hard to keep a blush down. God, that term was so _formal_. It was the kind of thing you said when you pledged your loyalty to a new pack or affirmed it before heading into battle. He wanted his Betas to respect him, but that was just extreme. “No.”

“Stiles did.”

“Stiles does a lot of things he shouldn’t.”

Erica trudged up the stairs behind Boyd and Derek followed, half checking to make sure she didn’t trip. “And yet, for a human, you sure let him get away with a lot.”

“Do you piss your parents off this much?”

“More, usually.”

Isaac was waiting for him when he got back, fiddling with a new book and smelling like Stiles, anxiety, and vomit. “Stiles wants to talk to you.”

Surprised, Derek looked around and listened for the rapid heartbeat. “Where is he, then?”

“No, I mean, he wants to talk to you tomorrow, after school. He’s busy right now, with his dad.”

“Did something happen? Why do you smell like puke?”

Isaac looked down at himself, then walked into his room, returning a second later in a different shirt. “Stiles puked.”

Against his better judgement, Derek pressed, “Why?”

“His dad was mad at him.” For some reason, Isaac didn’t look the least bit confused by that jump in logic. The implications made Derek himself nauseous.

Trying to change the subject, he pulled his jacket off and headed over to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water, since the stuff that came out of the taps wasn’t safe for even a werewolf to drink. “Did you find out why he missed school? Erica and Boyd wanted to know.”

“Yeah.”

Derek stopped. “Yeah, what?”

“Yeah, I found out why he missed.”

“So?”

Isaac blinked at him. “So, what?”

Turning around completely, Derek frowned. “So, why did he miss school, Isaac?”

“He’s going to tell you himself. Tomorrow.”

The hedging wasn’t something Derek was used to from Isaac. Normally, he was blunt to the point of being a dick. Hedging was something Stiles did. “Isaac, why aren’t you telling me now?”

“Because he asked me not to. But he said that he doesn’t want me to lie to you either, because I’m your Beta and that means something stupid about no lies. So, I’m just supposed to refuse to tell you, and he’ll tell you tomorrow. God, you two need to work out your issues! There’s spaghetti in the fridge. Stiles said he’s sorry for ‘borrowing me,’” Isaac quirked his fingers into quotation marks, “like I’m a pet or something. Now unless you’re gonna yell at me, I’m going to bed.” Isaac made to storm off to his room again, pushing through the door like he was trying to escape.

Derek growled, then bit his tongue. “Isaac.”

Isaac turned gold eyes on him. “ _What?_ ”

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

Suddenly, Isaac’s eyes were a pale blue again. “Oh. Whatever.”

“Goodnight.”

“Whatever.” But the door didn’t slam, so Derek counted it as a win.

* * *

Long after Isaac had gone back to Derek, choosing to walk rather than let Stiles give him a ride, Stiles stayed up with his dad. They’d moved back to the house and cleared off the dining room table together in silence before sitting so Stiles could finish his story.

“You got me drunk?” Noah asked, voice wavering. After all the things he’d heard, Stiles was almost surprised that this was the thing his dad was coming back to. Not the werewolves, or the childhood friend that was now a serial killing kanima, or the fact that Stiles literally set someone on fire. But the alcohol.

It was the thing Stiles kept coming back to, too. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I needed information, and I didn’t know how to get you to tell me without—without doing all of this.”

“Stiles, I’m your father. You can’t just hide things from me because—”

“You’re right, you’re my dad. The only parent I’ve got left, and I’ll fucking die before I let you get hurt,” Stiles interrupted. He was tired and still nauseous with nerves and guilt, but he straightened up his back. “I’m sorry I lied to you, but I don’t regret it. Peter went after Scott’s mom, okay? He wanted to turn her, at least, or just kill her for the hell of it. I wasn’t going to let that happen to you.”

“You are seventeen years old! It’s not your job to worry about that!”

Stiles buried his face in his hands and screamed into his palms, trying to vent some of his frustration before he started throwing things like his dad had before. “Dad, I’ve been worried about you dying since I was ten! What makes you think now is _any_ different? Just because the thing coming after you is a werewolf instead of a heart attack or a brain disease, doesn’t mean I’m not going to do whatever it takes.”

His dad’s hands clenched into fists on the table, then scrambled for the keys he’d set in the center. “You shouldn’t have had to do it alone, then. Where is Derek Hale? He’s the one who claims to be this great Alpha thing, now, right? I want to talk to him.”

“No!” It wasn’t until the word had already left his mouth that Stiles made his decision. “I’m not telling you. Derek doesn’t even know you know. Do you have any idea how ballistic he would go if you just show up?”

“Why? Because he has to talk to an actual adult?”

“Because he’s scared for his life!” Stiles cried, jumping to his feet. “Did you not hear the part about his entire family being murdered, and now more hunters being in town trying to _hunt_ him down? If you show up, he’ll either run and be so terrified to go back to his hiding spot that he wanders out into the open and gets killed, or he’ll attack you because he doesn’t know what else to do.”

Noah slammed his fist on the table. “Then what am I supposed to do? I am the sheriff of this town; I’ll have the hunters arrested. I can protect him, and when I’m done with that, I’ll prosecute him.”

“For what? For surviving?”

“For destroying evidence, for forging an adoption, for destruction of property, for assaulting minors. The list goes on. I’ll put him _and_ the Argents behind bars.”

Stiles gave up. He collapsed back into his chair and slammed his forehead into the surface of the table, making the pain on the inside of his head move to the outside for a little bit.

“Stop that,” Noah warned.

Annoyed, Stiles did it again, albeit a little more gently.

His dad’s hand curled in the collar of his shirt and pulled his head up. Staring up at his dad, Stiles just sighed. “I wish it were that easy. Do you know how nice it would be to just have the Argents arrested? But it won’t work, Dad. They’re too well connected. Think about it. Chris Argent sells the station its firearms. That deputy that Isaac attacked in the cells? Also a hunter. Allisons’ grandfather is the _principal_ of my school. They’ve been around for _literal_ centuries and infiltrated every fucking level of local government. You can’t touch them.”

When his dad let him go and sat back down, Stiles continued, “This isn’t your world, Dad. This is something completely different. Everyone who helped burn down the Hale house got off scot-free, and even with your new investigation, no one would have gone to jail. You never would have noticed if Peter hadn’t started killing them. There are codes, there are traditions, but human laws are useless when you’re dealing with the supernatural. What are you gonna do? Put an Alpha werewolf in the local prison? You saw what Isaac did to the cell door. Derek could do that with one hand behind his back.”

“What about you, son?” his dad asked. “It’s not my world, fine. Is it yours?”

Stiles snorted. “I mean, not by choice, that’s for sure. I was just kinda thrown into it headfirst. I have _no_ clue what I’m doing most of the time.” He groaned long and low, letting it fade into a sigh as he rubbed his eye. “All I know is bullets don’t do jack. A normal taser won’t even phase a werewolf, and even Derek barely managed to wound Jackson. If you go into this world with a gun, I’m gonna be an orphan in no time.”

Noah nodded down at his hands for a second, pursing his lips. He dropped the keys on the table. “Alright. Since you’re the expert here, apparently, what do you suggest?” He held up a finger. “I’m not saying I’m going to go along with it, but I’m willing to hear suggestions.”

“Just lay low,” Stiles said. He stretched a hand out toward the window. “Let me talk to Derek and explain.”

“What happened to him going ballistic?”

“Yeah, well, I’m used to it. Besides, unless someone is actively trying to kill him, he’s got a thing about not hurting us ‘weak little humans,’” Stiles made a face. “I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, if you could keep me up to date? Tell me what’s going on so I can stop this crap from happening.”

The silence that followed was killing Stiles. What did he need to say to make his dad understand?

“For now, I’ll do this. On one condition,” his dad said, finally.

Stiles shifted nervously, conjuring up possible demands. “What?”

“No more lies.”

Relaxing, Stiles nodded. “Got it.”

His dad leaned forward, holding tight to Stiles’ arm. “Promise me, Mischief.”

“I promise, Yoda. No more lies.”

— 

Giving up his lunch break to have a secret meeting in the library gave Stiles serious Buffy vibes and while he waited with Scott for Allison to arrive, he lamented the lack of a conveniently strong book cage for them to stuff Scott into on the full moons. Preferably, one stronger than the cell at the station. Allison could read him “Call of the Wild” to soothe his furry werewolf soul.

From between the shelves, they watched Allison come around the other side of the bookcase and Scott snatched up the tablet that she pressed into the gap they created. None of this would be necessary if Allison’s grandfather hadn’t decided to pop cameras in every corner of the school, but their little workaround was pretty decent.

As Scott clicked on the screen, Stiles glanced over at the document sitting on it. The pages Allison’d found had a massive note attached with beautiful, _beautiful_ , English writing.

“It’s everything Lydia could translate,” Allison muttered through the books. “Trust me, she was very thorough, but there just wasn’t a lot of information about what to _do_ with a kanima. Oh, and Stiles?”

Stiles leaned toward the shelf. “Yes?”

A hand shoved through with a piece of paper held out. When Stiles unfolded it, he tilted his head. “Uh, you know I’ve already got your number, Ally.”

“It’s Lydia’s. She says you only have permission to text her if it’s setting up a time for you to explain things.”

Unable to help himself, Stiles crushed the note in his fist and threw both of his hands in front of his face in a double fist pump.

Scott snorted, and Allison started giggling, so Stiles turned to them. “Look, I know it’s not gonna happen, but she is still the most popular girl in school, and I have her number. Let me bask.”

“Okay, can we get back to business?” Scott asked. “Does it say how to find out who’s controlling him, at least?”

Allison shifted for a second, looking around her, and Stiles did the same. Every kid in the library was too busy glaring at textbooks as they crammed for the rest of the midterms that day to notice them. “Not really, but Stiles was right about the murderers.”

Stiles pumped his fist again.

“It calls the kanima a weapon of vengeance. There’s a story in there about this South American priest who uses the kanima to execute murderers in his village.”

“Alright, see?” Stiles said, “So, maybe it’s not all that bad.”

Sighing, Allison pulled a random book off the shelf and opened it, turning her head to the side so she could still speak into their little opening. “Until the bond grew strong enough that it killed whoever he wanted it to.”

Which was probably why the kanima hadn’t killed him at the garage, but had tried its damndest at the pool the next night. Lots of bonding in very little time. “All bad. All very, very bad.”

“Here’s the thing, though. The kanima’s actually supposed to be a werewolf, but it can’t be until—” Allison paused, turning her head.

Scott bumped Stiles’ elbow with his own, pinching in on a section of the screen and blowing it up. “Until it resolves that in its past which manifested it,” he read.

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay, if that means Jackson could use a few thousand hours of therapy, I could have told you that myself.”

“What if…it has something to do with his parents?” Allison whispered. “His real parents?”

“Yeah, does anybody really know what happened to them?” Scott asked.

Shifting from side to side, Stiles groaned. “Look, I know that his parents died in a car crash, and yeah, that’d mess anybody up. But I don’t know why it would be enough to turn him into a fucking lizard.”

When Scott just stared at him, Stiles waved a hand. “Fine, fine, I’ll ask Lydia.”

“What if she doesn’t know anything?” Scott argued.

“Well, he doesn’t have a restraining order against me, so I’ll talk to him,” Allison said.

While Stiles put the book he’d been randomly flipping through back on the shelf, Scott scowled and pushed his face closer to the gap. “What am _I_ supposed to do?”

“You have a makeup test, Scott,” Allison reminded him.

Unfortunately, after Stiles’d finished the Chemistry midterm, leaving Scott to retake the Geometry test he’d missed, and caught up to Lydia, she wasn’t in the mood to be helpful.

“I’m not telling you, Stiles.” Lydia snapped, marching down the hall.

“What?” Stiles cried. “Why not? Lydia, it’s life or death!”

Stopping and spinning around so sharply her skirt flared out, Lydia answered, “It’s _always_ life or death with you! You’ve promised me three separate times to tell me what’s going on, and you still haven’t.”

Stiles clenched his fingers into claws. “That’s not because I don’t _want_ to! There just hasn’t been time! Do you have any idea how many things I’m trying to juggle right now?”

The absolute last thing he expected was for Lydia’s eyes to go misty. “You were supposed to tell me what’s happening to me. You promised, Stiles.”

Huffing, Stiles looked around himself at the hall. “Okay! Okay, just—we need to go somewhere really, _really_ private.”

Sniffling exactly once, Lydia reached out and grabbed Stiles’ wrist, pulling him behind her through the halls. He let himself be dragged, checking a clock as they walked past. They had an hour and a half before school got out and he was supposed to go meet Derek. How much could he fit into that time?

Lydia’s hideaway of choice was an empty choir room. She shoved him down into a chair in the front row of seats and crossed her arms over her chest, standing between him and the door. “Spill.”

“Lydia, I wasn’t kidding about not having time to explain all of this to you, so I’m just gonna say some stuff and you’re gonna have to deal with not understanding all of it. Got it?”

She shrugged. “Fine. Start with what’s happening to _me_. How did you know the face I saw? Am I actually going crazy?”

Stiles reached out his hands. “No, you’re not. I promise, you’re not going crazy. You’re possessed, as far as I can tell. By Peter Hale.”

“Who?”

“Derek Hale’s uncle. He’s the one who attacked you. They’re both werewolves. Actually, so are Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac.”

When he’d thrown out the “W” word with Scott, the entire conversation had come to a halt. Stiles didn’t exactly have his research sitting in front of him to present as proof this time. But, Lydia didn’t rush out or shout at him. She only stared, then reached over and grabbed another chair, setting it down opposite him and dropping into it.

“The Latin that Allison wanted me to translate…that kanima that it was talking about…that’s real, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Why did Peter Hale attack me? I don’t even know him. Is he the person I keep seeing in the mirror?”

Stiles balked. “Keep? How many times have you seen him?”

Lydia frowned, slouching. “A lot…more every day. But it’s not just that. I—I keep forgetting what I’m doing, or where I am. There’s times when it’s like I went back in time: the books in class are so outdated, no one looks familiar. And…the other day I just walked into the men’s bathroom. I didn’t even realize what was wrong until someone shouted.”

The image made Stiles want to laugh, but Lydia looked mortified, and all of this was Stiles’ fault anyway, so he kept his mouth shut about it. Instead, he rubbed at his own cheek, trying to remember what Peter had said. “He told me—”

“You _talked_ to him?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, not willingly. He kinda kidnapped me for a while. That’s not the point. He told me that he attacked you to get my attention. There was this whole thing with Allison and Scott, and he needed my help, but Scott was keeping me away on accident. I’m sorry, but he could smell me on you when you went to the field. I just don’t—I don’t understand why he would send you so many of his memories. The bite makes sense, but the rest…”

“Stiles,” Lydia snapped. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Frustrated, Stiles groaned. “He bit you. He wanted to turn you or something. He was trying to build a pack. That makes sense. But those cuts on your neck—werewolves can do this thing where they share memories with you. He did it to Scott, and Derek did it to Jackson for some reason. And…apparently Peter did it to you. But I don’t know why, and I don’t know why it hasn’t worn off. Scott stopped seeing anything after a couple days, that’s why I told you before that you would be fine. I didn’t know this would happen.”

For a little while, neither of them spoke, Stiles too lost in his own thoughts to properly reassure Lydia, who was just gaping at him. The ticking of the clock on the wall felt way too loud.

“So, you don’t know how to fix me?” Lydia asked softly. “You can’t make it stop?”

“No, I can’t.” Stiles reached out again, this time actually grabbing Lydia’s hand. He looked down at it, trying to think of something to say, but paused. Over her knuckles were a bunch of small white scars, like mostly healed cuts. “Lydia, what happened?”

With a jerk, Lydia took her hand back. “I told you. I keep seeing him. I woke up in the middle of the night and when I looked in the mirror all I could see was _him_. This Peter Hale, son of a bitch. I…I broke the mirror.”

“Lydia, no. Please, god, don’t do that again. He’s not—these are just his memories, okay?” Stiles clasped his own hands together to keep them from stretching out toward her. “It’s just echoes of his life. You’re seeing _his_ school, _his_ classes. His niece. But he can’t _hurt_ you.”

“ _What?_ ” Lydia whispered. “His niece? That girl, from the rink. That was his _niece_?”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Laura Hale…he—he killed her. He said he couldn’t stop himself, but…”

Finally, Lydia seemed to recognize the last name she kept hearing. “Hale. Hale, as in the Hale fire? Are you telling me those people—all those screams from the hospital?”

Lydia broke, fat tears streaming down her face as she began to cry. Her hands came up to cover her mouth and she bent double in her chair, red hair falling to the sides and shielding her even more.

Again, Stiles felt like the only thing he had to offer was a hug, but when he stood up and leaned over her, she struck out, shoving at him and standing up just to run over to an empty space against the wall and slide down it. “No! Stay away from me! Don’t touch me!”

He could only watch her sob. Every few seconds he felt like he was intruding, that it was wrong to just watch her cry, and he should leave or at least look away, but it only felt worse to stare around the room at the peppy music posters and doodles on the chalkboard from bored students while Lydia was coming to terms with listening to an entire family die. Finally, he went to the piano and grabbed the cheap box of tissues on top. He padded over to her as quietly as he could, then sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, putting the tissues between them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

When Lydia looked up, just long enough to grab a tissue, Stiles could see that her makeup was smeared, little trickles of black coming from the corners of her eyes and her lipstick smudged across her cheek.

“Jackson is that kanima thing, isn’t he? That’s why he turned into that thing at Scott’s.” Lydia sniffed a few times before giving up and just blowing her nose. “He’s the one that’s been killing all those people. That’s why you want to know about his parents.”

Stiles blinked at her. “You…uh, you catch on really fast.”

That got a small snort from her. “I’m the one who translated the pages from the bestiary, Stiles. Anyway, you already know what happened to them.”

“I know they died in a car crash, but I don’t know much else.”

“I remember when Jackson’s parents told him, in the fifth grade. You two were still friends. It was just after your mom died, wasn’t it?”

There wasn’t an answer to that that Stiles was willing to give, so he just closed his eyes. After a second, a hand touched his knee, and he opened them again.

“I get it.”

At the moment, Stiles didn’t doubt that at all.

“But Stiles,” she continued, “I don’t know either. He only ever told me about the car crash.”

Shocked, Stiles jolted up to his knees. “Wait, what? He didn’t say _anything_ else?”

Suddenly, the door to the choir room shoved open and Erica came storming in, eyes blazing gold. “You lied!”

Stiles scrambled to his feet with Lydia just behind him. Though she’d been insistent that he not touch her before, now she hid behind his shoulder. When Stiles stepped forward, she abandoned him and put her back to the wall again, keeping as far from Erica as possible. He put his hands up to stop Erica’s own advance and cried, “No! No! I didn’t lie! Erica, please! God, I’m trying so fucking hard not to lie to anyone. I didn’t lie! I was going to tell Derek today, after school. Ask Isaac!”

Erica flicked her claws out and growled, ignoring the last of what he said. “We’ve been trying to get Derek to let you back in the pack and you’ve been holding out on us the whole time!”

This was the kind of anger Stiles was used to from Scott, but not from the Betas. Derek had been doing so well training them, or at least Stiles had thought so. Their control wasn’t perfect, but this was the first time he was worried someone was going to get really hurt. Already, he just wanted to back up and keep his head down until the storm was over, but when he twisted to look, Lydia was on the verge of hyperventilating behind him. He couldn’t let her get hurt again.

Bracing himself for the scrape of claws on his skin, Stiles pushed into Erica and grabbed both of her wrists. “Hey, stop. You need to stop. Erica, stop it!” He shoved at her, and when she didn’t move, he raised his voice, pulling out words that Peter had mentioned. “Shift down, _now._ ”

With a sudden give of her body that sent Erica backwards a few steps, she shifted down, still glaring, but without the supernatural bonus. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she snarled.

“You wanna play Catwoman, huh?” Stiles snapped. “I’ll be your Batman every time, Erica. You can’t just go wolf on people or you’re going to expose everyone! You’ll expose Derek. Is that what you want?”

Erica jerked her arms away from Stiles, letting them hang at her sides while she heaved in breaths. “You—”

“I didn’t _lie_ , Erica. I only found out after he left Scott’s house. And I’m going to tell Derek. I’m supposed to meet him _today_ , okay? Right after school, first thing. I’m not trying to keep things from you.” Stiles took a breath of his own, and turned back to Lydia. “You should go home, Lyds. It’ll be okay. We can talk later.”

Lydia didn’t argue or even say goodbye, she just bolted out the door on the opposite side of the room.

“Erica, look—” Stiles turned again, but he was alone in the room and Erica’s door was just swinging shut. “Stop!”

He raced out of the room just in time to see Erica’s jacket disappear around a corner. She was headed for the locker rooms. Stiles bolted after her, tripping into people more than once and pushing some aside when they didn’t get out of his way fast enough. “Erica! I’m begging you, stop!”

As he swung around the corner into the hall where both sets of locker rooms were located, Stiles ran face first into Erica, crashing backward to the floor.

“Why?” she snapped as she looked down at him. “Why shouldn’t I just go kill him, right now? After what he did to me and Derek, to Isaac’s dad?”

Stiles wasn’t oblivious to his position here, both physical and metaphorical, so he didn’t rise any farther than to his knees. “Erica, he’s not doing it on purpose. The bestiary that we got from the Argents, Lydia translated it and the kanima seeks a master. Someone’s controlling him. If you just come with me to Derek’s then I’ll explain everything. But you can’t kill him, he isn’t trying to hurt anybody.”

Erica had stopped listening, twisting around to stare down the hall. “Stiles…Stiles, they’re—” She broke off suddenly, racing toward the boys’ locker room. Scrambling to his feet, Stiles followed.

She yanked the door open just in time for Scott to fly through it and bash into the cement wall. He was snarling and his eyes were gold. A moment later, Jackson stormed through the doorway, sopping wet, in nothing but a pair of red gym shorts.

“Scott no!” Stiles shouted, reaching down and grabbing at Scott’s shoulders while Erica pulled Jackson away.

Jackson stopped fighting immediately, panting for breath and shivering in Erica’s arms, but Scott kept trying to lunge for him. Allison came scurrying out of the room as well, throwing herself at Scott’s chest to get between them.

Stiles wrapped his arms under Scott’s armpits and pulled him backward. “Scott, the restraining order!”

“What?” Jackson gasped. “What restraining order? What the hell, McCall?”

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles tried not to groan at the sound of Harris coming storming down the hall. “What do you idiots think you’re doing?”

When Scott went limp in Stiles’ arms, Stiles let go, leaving him to shake out his wet hair, lean against the wall, and glare daggers at Jackson.

“Mr. McCall? You wanna explain yourself?” Harris barked.

Stiles looked over at Scott too. What the fuck was going on? Allison looked completely shaken, staring at Jackson as intently as Scott, but with a level of fear instead of anger.

He jumped when Harris yelled his name instead. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“Nevermind,” Harris scowled. “I should’ve known better than to ask you.”

“Hey,” came a voice from behind Harris’ shoulder. Matt Daehler held out the tablet Allison had given Scott earlier. “You dropped this.”

Immediately, Harris snatched it out of his hand and used it to point at first Scott, then Jackson, then Stiles. “You, you, and you…actually,” he swung the tablet in an arc that even included Matt, “all of you. Detention. Three o’clock.”

There wasn’t actually all that much more time left before school got out, so once Harris walked away and Jackson broke out of Erica’s grip to stomp back into the locker room, Stiles just dragged Scott away from Matt and toward the nearest empty office. He shoved Scott down onto the bench near the window and kept his hands out to keep Scott from getting up. Erica trailed behind them, watching the scene like a fly on the wall, since Scott didn’t seem to notice she was there.

Before Scott could begin the tirade Stiles could see in his face, Allison cried out, “What the hell were you doing?”

Face red, Scott shouted right back, “He was _naked_ , Allison, what did you expect me to do?”

“Not that! I told you I was _fine_ , Scott.”

Stiles waved his hands, “Wait, what? Jackson was naked? Allison, why were you even in there? Are you okay?”

Allison groaned, “Yes! Yes, I’m fucking fine. I would’ve had it all under control, I just—the floor was wet and I slipped when I went to flip him.”

“Flip him? Hold on, start at the beginning,” Stiles begged. “What happened?”

“He attacked her!” Scott growled. “I’m gonna kill him!”

Putting her hands over her face, Allison just shouted, “Stop it! No, no, he didn’t!”

Hesitant, after Lydia had been so vehement about him staying away, Stiles put a hand on Allison’s arm. “Then, what happened?”

She didn’t shake him off, but she did glance over at Erica like she wasn’t sure how much she could say.

“She already knows, just—don’t worry about it,” Stiles said. “Talk to me, Ally.”

“Jackson didn’t attack me, because that _wasn’t_ Jackson. I—” Allison gulped, “I was going to ask him about his parents, and I thought I heard him choking or something in the room, so I just went in. He was in the showers, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t Jackson. He didn’t talk like him or anything. He kept just—just shouting at me about Scott and I tried to knock him down and I slipped, and he fell on me.” She looked around and added, “But then he woke up or something, and he looked terrified. He was trying to get dressed when Scott came in.”

Crouching next to Scott, she put both hands on his arm. “He didn’t hurt me. I’m _fine_ , Scott.”

Scott shook his head, but he didn’t speak.

For all that they were fighting just minutes before, and that Stiles hadn’t actually spent enough time with Erica to bond much, her presence behind him felt so natural that he jumped when she actually spoke. “What restraining order? And why didn’t Jackson know about it?”

“After he left Scott’s,” Stiles explained, “we found Jackson at _Jungle_. Derek sliced him up and it was enough to turn him human again, so we locked him in a police van. When he woke up and I told him what was going on, he _believed_ me. He even helped us keep the fact that he was gone a secret from his parents. But, whoever his master is figured out how to—I don’t know, take over his body? They broke him out and took him to the station. They made him tell my dad and Jackson’s dad that we kidnapped him and chained him up against his will. He has a restraining order against us and apparently can’t even remember it.”

Stiles shifted to look at Erica fully. “Do you get it, now? This is why I was trying to find out what happened to his parents. The bestiary said the only way for him to turn back into a werewolf—like he’s _supposed_ to be—is to resolve whatever issues made him turn into the kanima in the first place.”

Though Erica scowled at him and crossed her arms, she still said, “Fine. I can find that out for you. But we’re telling Derek.”

“Fine by me,” Scott said, rising from his seat. “Derek wants to kill him? I’ll help.”

“Scott, _stop_ ,” Allison cut in. “Guys, we have to go. It’s almost three.”

They filed out of the office, but when they began to pass the locker room, Stiles glanced through the window to see Jackson still inside. “I’ll get him.” He pointed at Scott. “You go, seriously.”

Allison led Scott away with Erica still in the rear, while Stiles pulled the door open. It made Jackson jump, nearly toppling off the bench he was sitting on. He was fully dressed now, but for some reason his face was still wet.

Stiles stepped inside, flinching when Jackson wiped at his face. It wasn’t the shower that’d left those droplets on his cheeks. “Hey, you good?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Jackson rushed. “I don’t—I can’t remember. I was just taking a shower and then suddenly I was on top of her. You know I wouldn’t—”

“She’s okay, Jackson. You didn’t—nothing happened.” Stiles had to swallow some bile when he realized what Jackson might’ve been thinking. “She knows it wasn’t you, too. Listen, Lydia translated the bestiary—it’s this book that talks about all kinds of—nevermind. We know that it’s not just you not remembering. You can’t control what you’re doing because someone else is making you do it. We don’t blame you.”

Swallowing, Jackson looked over Stiles’ shoulder. “McCall does.”

Stiles frowned. “ _No_. He doesn’t. He’s just shit at controlling himself when it comes to Allison.” He wanted to say more, but they were running out of time. “Look, we have to go. If I’m late, Harris will keep me even later and I have to go see Derek.”

Jackson followed Stiles out the door and down the hall. “Why? I thought he—”

Elbowing Jackson in the stomach cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “We’re almost to Harris’,” he said, putting a finger to his mouth.

They joined the rest of the group, Matt included, in the Chem room just long enough for Harris to count heads, then he strutted through the school like a peacock, making them follow behind. He took them to the library, which’d vacated stupidly quickly now that school was out and midterms were over.

Though Scott glared at him, Jackson went to take a seat next to Stiles, only for Harris to stop him. “Jackson, I’ve already been informed about the restraining order. You can sit over here instead. Ms. Argent, Mr. Daehler, you too.”

Brows furrowed, Jackson stood up again and backed up toward the spot Harris had pointed out, mouthing, “ _What?_ ” toward Stiles.

“ _Later,”_ Stiles mouthed back.

Erica slid into Jackson’s vacated seat with her backpack in hand and began pulling out a laptop. Meanwhile, Scott leaned in and fisted his hands on the table. “I’m gonna kill him, Stiles. I swear.”

“No, you’re not.” Stiles reiterated. “You’re going to find out who’s controlling him, and then you’re going to help save him.”

“No.” Scott shook his head. “Derek was right, we should kill him.”

Beside Stiles, Erica snorted. “Like you have any idea what Derek thinks.”

“Does it look like I want your opinion?” Scott snarled. “You guys were ready to kill Lydia without even making sure she was the kanima.”

“At least we were actually doing something instead of trying to get our dicks wet with a hunter,” Erica retorted.

Stiles narrowly resisted the urge to slap his hands on the table and whispered viciously, “Both of you knock it the _fuck_ off. Erica, leave Allison _alone_. Scott, stop picking fights. God, you werewolves.”

To his horror, Erica smiled widely at him. “Yes, Stiles.” Then, she leaned into his side, typing away at her computer.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. Letting her cling to him felt like a horrible idea, but shoving her away was even worse. Was she _trying_ to clue Scott in?

Miraculously, Scott didn’t make any kind of connection, just made a face at Erica and shrugged a sort of apology at Stiles. Like he just thought Erica was being annoying, which she was. So, Stiles left her weight against his side, only spluttering a little when she rested her head on his shoulder, somehow still typing perfectly fast even though her view of the screen was sideways.

As the minutes ticked by, Stiles glanced around the room. The big question was who was controlling Jackson? It had to be someone close to him, someone he trusted enough that they’d be able to get in his house…

“What if it’s Matt?” Stiles whispered, gaze catching on Matt’s form. He was sitting next to Allison, across from Jackson, munching on popcorn and setting off all sorts of alarm bells in Stiles’ head. The kid had always given him the heebies and he did his level best to avoid or just straight up ignore him. “I mean, this whole thing comes back to the video, right? Isn’t he super into tech?”

Scott dropped his head on his folded arms, but tipped his chin to look over too. “Danny said that Matt was the one who found the two hours of footage missing.”

“Exactly! He’s trying to throw suspicion off himself.”

Dubious, Scott straightened up a little. “So, he makes Jackson kill Isaac’s dad, one of Argent’s hunters, and the mechanic working on your Jeep?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because…” Stiles faltered, “he’s evil.”

Erica giggled, jostling Stiles. He jostled her back, but she only sank further into him.

Scott actually took a second to squint at Matt, still eating his popcorn. “You just don’t like him.”

That, Stiles couldn’t deny. “The guy…bugs me. I don’t know what it is. Just look at his face.”

Matt wiggled his bag of popcorn in front of Jackson, raising his eyebrows when Jackson shook his head.

“Any other theories?” Scott asked.

Scowling, Stiles actually shifted to put some of his own weight against Erica so he could stop slowly sliding off his chair. “Not at present, no,” he sniped gently.

Over on Erica’s screen, she was logging into an email account. She lifted her head from him to focus, and Stiles rested his own head on her now free, leather-clad shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m getting you the info you wanted, Batman,” Erica said quietly, her cheek moving against his forehead. “My dad was the insurance investigator of Jackson’s parents’ car crash. Every time he sees Jackson drive by in the Porsche he makes some comment about the huge settlement he’ll be getting when he’s eighteen.”

“Dude,” Scott said, squinting at Stiles. 

Immediately, Stiles jerked his head back. Erica giggled again, but actually sat up now that they were getting to business.

“So, not only is Jackson rich now, but he’s getting even richer at eighteen?” Stiles asked, hoping against hope it would change the subject.

“Yep.”

“There is something so deeply wrong with that.”

Erica smiled. “Exactly. Anyway, my dad keeps _everything_ in his inbox. I’m sure if I can find the right year, he still has a copy of the insurance report. Do you know when they died?”

Stiles opened his mouth, but the PA system beeped through the speakers and interrupted him.

“ _Scott McCall, please report to the Principal’s Office._ ”

That didn’t sound like the secretary. Wasn’t that…Stiles leaned over toward Scott as he started to get up. “Dude, was that Allison’s _mom_?”

Slowly, Scott nodded, then headed out the door. Stiles had a single moment of worried eye contact with Allison from across the room. How many more Argents were going to infiltrate the school?

“Stiles, I found it,” Erica leaned forward.

“What? How’d you know the year?”

“I just started with his birth year, but Stiles, look at the dates.”

She had a file opened on her screen, the incident report for the night. He read it quietly, “‘Passengers arrived at the hospital DOA. Estimated time of death, 12:02 am, June 15th.’ Jackson’s birthday is June 15th. How was he born in…” Stiles trailed off, then just buried his face in his hands. “Oh god.”

He looked up when the room burst into activity. Harris was packing up his bag, and everyone else was starting to stand up. Nervous, Stiles didn’t move right away. His choice was proven right when Harris looked up at the room and started to laugh.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. Yes, I’m leaving. But none of you are. _You_ may go when you’re done with the reshelving.” He patted one of the three book carts that were piled with books, a truly blissful smile on his face. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Scott returned around the time that Stiles had claimed a cart with Allison and Erica. Jackson had taken one look at Allison and run off to the other side of the library to join Matt. It was probably a smart choice since Scott came into the library and made a beeline for Allison’s side.

“What’d we find out?” he asked. Scott stepped up close to Allison and put an arm around her waist, almost defiantly, since they were out of sight of the camera.

Stiles looked over at Jackson to make sure he wouldn’t overhear them, then muttered, “We know why Jackson became the kanima.”

Allison nearly dropped the books she was holding. “Why?”

“He—” Stiles rubbed at his jaw. “He was born after his parents died. By C-section. They had to pull him out of his mom’s dead body.”

He wasn’t the only one feeling sick anymore.

A phone buzzed somewhere, and Scott pulled his cell out of his pocket. “Uh, Stiles, your dad wants you to call him?”

Stiles snatched Scott’s phone out of his hand. “Right. He’s probably wondering where I am.” Suddenly, he remembered who else might be confused about his absence. He made eye contact with Erica and held up the phone. “I should let him know that I’m gonna be late.”

He had to bite back a smirk when Erica’s hand went to her own phone and he rang his dad’s number. “Hey, what’s up?”

“ _Stiles, you wanted me to keep you in the loop. I think the—the thing Jackson—whatever, went after someone else.”_

Ducking, Stiles pulled the phone away and looked over toward Jackson. He was leaning on a shelf, for some reason, but he didn’t look scaly.

“What do you mean? What happened?” he asked, tucking the phone back against his ear. Erica was gaping at him, but he waved her off, pointing at her phone until she just walked off with it in hand over to another aisle.

“ _Local guy was attacked last night. By the time they got there, he was long dead, and his wife…she’s in bad shape, son.”_

“Wait, she’s still _alive?_ ” Stiles blinked over at Scott. “He didn’t get them both?”

_“Apparently not. They’re still a little worried that the trauma might affect her baby, though.”_

Stiles’ face went cold as the blood drained from it. “She’s pregnant?”

 _“Stiles, is he there with you? Are you still at the school?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, he is. We are. I—I got detention, I’ll explain it later. Dad, I gotta go.”

_“Stay safe, and call me if something happens. Agreed?”_

He nodded, even though his dad couldn’t see. “Agreed, I gotta go.”

As he handed the phone back to Scott, Stiles called across the room. “Jackson, man, come here.”

“That’s not all the report said,” he explained to Scott and Allison. “It also said that they couldn’t even figure out what caused the crash. There was no alcohol in their systems, no reason for them to have gone off the road.”

“Wait, was it an accident or not?” Allison asked.

Stiles couldn’t see where Jackson had gone to, and he called out again. “Jackson, seriously, come here.” Then, he added to Allison, “The word all over the report was ‘inconclusive.’”

Scott frowned. “So his parents could have been murdered?”

“If they were, then it falls in line with the kanima myth,” Stiles agreed. “You know? Seeks out and kills murderers.”

He shifted on his feet and leaned out of the aisle. “Scott, where is he?”

Growling a little, Scott walked over to where Jackson had been standing, disappearing into the aisle. A moment later, the light above that aisle exploded as it was whacked by a tail. The blur on top of the shelves headed in their direction and Stiles threw himself backwards when it hit the shelf next to them, pulling Allison down with him to cover her from the falling books.

“Allison!” came Scott’s shout.

At the same time, Stiles looked over where the shape had disappeared. “Erica!”

The response was a roar cut off midway through from a couple aisles over.

Scott came running from across the room only to get thrown into one of the carts by what looked like a hybrid of Jackson and the kanima. He had a tail, talons, and scales up one side of his face, but the rest of him was still Jackson shaped, down to the quiff of his hair. Once Scott had scrambled over to crouch next to Stiles and Allison, they looked into the center of the room to see the hybrid standing next to one of the shitty old chalkboards that were used for lessons on the Dewey Decimal System.

Jerky and slow, Jackson’s hand lifted a piece of chalk and began to write on the board, not even looking at what he was writing.

Stiles knew this didn’t need to happen. They’d already seen an example today, and the night before, of whoever Jackson’s master was taking over and talking through him. So why was it writing on the board like a cheap horror scene?

_STAY OUT OF MY WAY OR I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU_

Dropping the chalk, Jackson hopped up onto one of the bookshelves that was attached to the wall and smashed through a small window.

Unable to resist, Stiles asked the room. “Did he seriously just do that? He wrote on a _chalkboard_?”

He got up with the others to get a closer look, but turned around when he heard someone panting. Erica was on the floor, arms pulled up to her chest as she shook against the pile of books she was on.

“Allison! Help me!” Stiles climbed around to Erica’s back, holding Erica on her side and grabbed for her hand. “She’s seizing, why is she seizing?”

While Allison came to help Stiles, Scott went over to check on Matt. “He’s alive, but he’s out cold,” he called.

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Stiles cried, trying to shove a book away from Erica’s head so she wouldn’t hit it.

“D—D—” Erica stuttered. “D—”

Stiles leaned over her. “Derek? Derek, okay, okay. We’ll get you to Derek.”

Allison shook her head. “I can’t go with.”

“What? Why not? Allison, I don’t know what to do!”

“If my parents find out I went to see Derek? If I know where he is? They’d force it out of me, Stiles. The only way we keep them safe is if I don’t know _anything_.” Allison stood up. “You’re doing fine. Scott will go with you.”

She went over to get him, leaving Stiles with a shivering, spasming Erica in his arms. He waited, squeezing Erica’s hand and wiping her hair out of her face every time it shook back over her mouth. “I got you, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll get you to Derek,” he muttered. “Scott! Come on!” His shout was desperate. Erica’s last seizure hadn’t lasted this long, surely.

It felt like ages before Scott appeared and scooped Erica into his arms, pulling Stiles’ hand away from her.

He wanted to be the one to sit with her in the car, but Scott didn’t know where to go. 

The instant they pulled up to the depot, Stiles started shouting. “Derek! Help! It’s Erica!”

She was still going, hadn’t stopped for even a second. Stiles’ eyes were blurry with tears as he yanked open his door and shoved the seat forward to make room. “Derek!”

Suddenly, Derek was there, reaching forward and lifting Erica out of Scott’s arms with ease, cradling her and turning back to the depot. Stiles ran ahead and held open the door for them, leaving Scott to close the car door.

“What happened?” Derek snarled, racing down the steps.

Stiles clung to the railing as he wiped his eyes to keep from tripping. “Jackson’s the kanima, someone’s controlling him, they made him scratch her. I don’t understand, I thought the tumor was healed? I thought being a werewolf had fixed her!”

“It was supposed to!” Derek shouted.

When they reached the landing, Derek brought her into the train car where Isaac had gotten the bite and laid her on the ground. “Hold her up!” he ordered. Immediately, Stiles dropped to his knees and pulled Erica’s head into his lap, vaguely noticing Isaac and Boyd running in behind him and Scott entering from behind Derek.

“Derek, is she dying?” Stiles asked. He grabbed at her hand as her arms flopped upward and squeezed it tight. He’d thought he’d be grateful when the seizing stopped, but Erica didn’t look better. She was still shaking, deathly pale and looking like she was about to die.

Derek looked down at her, frozen for a moment. “She might…I—” He grabbed for her other arm, sliding up the sleeve of her jacket and gripping her forearm with both hands. “This is gonna hurt.”

There was the distinct sound of snapping bone, and Erica screamed and started to bawl.

“You broke her arm?” Stiles shouted over the noise. With Erica’s head on his shoulder he was going deaf in one ear. Thankful that she hadn’t broken _his_ hand in her pain, Stiles reached up with his free one to stroke her shoulder. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

Derek only grimaced. “It’ll trigger the healing process. I have to get the venom out. Stiles, let go of her hand or she’ll break you.”

Stiles shifted his grip so he was holding her wrist instead, and then Derek made a long cut up the underside of Erica’s arm and she screamed again. He couldn’t watch the gore that was spreading on the floor of the car, so he watched Erica instead, looking for any sign of change. It had to work. She was supposed to be cured already. It _had_ to work.

After a few moments, Erica’s screaming stopped, turning to pained whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. “It’s okay. See? He fixed it. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Stiles,” Erica panted, looking up at him with glazed eyes, “you make a good Batman…”

Her unsteady breathing and the slow drip of blood was the only sound for a good minute as she passed out properly. Stiles couldn’t stop pushing her hair out of the way and gripping at her shoulder.

At some point Scott got up and left the train car, and Derek let go of Erica’s arm, his hands a dark red. “Isaac,” he rasped. “Come here.”

Isaac squeezed between a couple chairs and Stiles’ shoulder to come over to Derek’s side, silent, but panting like he was in pain too.

“Do you remember what I told you today? Try it now.”

Derek nudged at Isaac’s elbow when he didn’t move right away, and Isaac lifted up Erica’s clean arm. His grip didn’t look tight, but for a few seconds, it was like Isaac was straining for something.

The slow creep of black lines up Isaac’s fingers and the back of his hand made Stiles start. “What is that? What’s happening?”

Isaac just hissed in a breath. “New trick.”

Boyd kneeled at Stiles’ side while Isaac worked on whatever he was doing and Derek just stared at Erica. Boyd’s arm came up over Stiles’ shoulder, and the other crossed over Erica’s chest to join Isaac’s hand. It took longer than it had for Isaac, but the same veins appeared on Boyd’s hand and wrist, the inky lines more like shadows on his already black skin.

Unable to do any fancy werewolf things to help, Stiles just fell to the side enough to cross his legs and held Erica a little more securely in his grip. He wasn’t sure he was willing to let go anytime soon. Even when Derek stood up, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to follow him out of the car. He just dropped his temple to Erica’s hair and closed his eyes.

Outside, they were talking about something, but Stiles couldn’t understand them.

“Scott agreed to help find Jackson,” Isaac whispered.

Stiles just hummed in confusion. There was something safe about sitting here under Boyd’s arm, holding Erica. Knowing Isaac was close by and Derek not much farther.

Isaac’s nudge made Stiles finally blink open his eyes, if only for a moment. “Stiles, Scott agreed to join our pack.”

That was important news, Stiles was sure, but he just…couldn’t bring himself to get excited about it. He was suddenly the kind of bone-deep tired that he’d been after the pool, the kind that couldn’t be pushed aside for anything. As his head went fuzzy, Stiles managed a soft, “Tell Scott I’m staying,” but then he was out, sinking into Boyd’s chest and still clinging to Erica.

* * *

“I’m gonna help you stop Jackson. If you want me in your pack, fine. But we’re going to catch him, not kill him. And we’re gonna do it my way,” Scott said.

Derek almost just refused. He had a pack now, a full set of Betas. Scott was unruly and had even more issues with authority than Stiles did. But, if he were in the pack, if Derek could bond with him, they could stop fighting. He would have one less enemy, one less battle line to deal with.

He stood up, meeting Scott’s eyes and nodding. “Deal. Welcome to the pack.”

Scott grimaced. “I gotta go. I’m so grounded it’s not even funny.” He turned around and headed for the car. “Stiles, let’s go.”

In the pause after Scott’s call, Derek tuned in to the group still in the train car. All their heartbeats were slow, thudding steady and quiet. Stiles included.

Frowning, Derek joined Scott at the doorway. He had his head stuck through, and he pulled it out to furrow his brows at Derek. When Derek stepped inside, something inside him buckled into itself.

Derek paid a lot of attention to the bonds between himself and his Betas. A little too much, but Derek had long since accepted that he would never feel secure about his connection to pack again. He checked each time they strengthened or changed in sensation, giving him just the barest hints of how well he was doing. Whether they were happy with him. Lately, the progress had been slow and steady, just like these heartbeats. Each bond thickening and becoming that much harder to break.

As much as he tried to ignore it, that’d included Stiles’ bond. Derek’d been on his way to the station, trying to beat Jackson and the sheriff to the building so he could make sure Jackson did as he was told, when the piano wire bond had doubled, becoming an entire braid, layered and infuriating. He’d fixed Stiles’ Jeep to settle a debt, not to make Stiles bond with him.

Somehow, in the wave of worry over Erica, then dealing with Scott, he’d missed something. Whatever’d happened in the train car had multiplied the strength of _all_ of his Betas’ bonds. With him…and with Stiles.

They were piled together, limbs overlapping and leather blending. Stiles was nearly crushed between Erica in his arms and Boyd wrapped around his back. Isaac had curled over Erica’s chest to top the sandwich of bodies. The entire lot of them were asleep, heedless of the stench of blood and fear that filled the space. It was the kind of peace that Derek remembered feeling only after he and Laura had finally found a safe hideaway for the night. When they came down from the adrenaline rush, it put them out like lights in positions just as uncomfortable as what Boyd and Stiles were contorted into.

Confused, Derek left them alone to join Scott outside the doorway

“What happened to them?” Scott asked, a look of discomfort twisting his features.

What was he supposed to say? As far as Derek knew, Scott still hadn’t been told about Stiles being a part of the pack. But did it matter anymore, when Scott had joined him as well? 

There wasn’t a bond, per say, but that was probably just because Scott was being obstinate. Neither of them trusted each other, preventing the bond from forming. He just needed to be patient, somehow. In the meantime, maybe it would make Scott a little less opposed if Derek made it clear that as long as Stiles’ loyalties weren’t divided anymore, he would be treated as pack too.

“Adrenaline crash,” he just said. “I’ll make sure he gets home. Do you need a ride?”

Scott shook his head. “Uh, no. I’ll just run. Stiles needs to get home soon though, maybe I should just—”

“I’ll take care of it, Scott. It’s part of my job.”

That was all it took to get Scott to hand off the Jeep keys and bound back up the stairs toward ground level.

Once he was gone, Derek went to his room to grab a towel from the pile of dirty laundry and brought it back to the pack pile. No one so much as twitched while he attempted to clean up the puddle of blood under Erica’s arm, and Erica only snuffled when he came back with a different towel, this one wet, and scrubbed both her barely closed wound and his hands clean.

The difference in smell was minimal, but at least Erica wouldn’t wake up in the middle of a nightmare scene.

He managed to find other things to do, excuses to put off waking them up, for a good hour. Then, he started with the easiest.

A single tap to Isaac’s shoulder was enough to rouse him.

“What? Is Erica okay?” he asked, sitting up and checking her over. “When’d you clean up? Where’s Scott?”

Derek rose from his crouch and braced himself before holding out his hand. Isaac took it, and Derek pulled him to his feet. “She’s fine, now. Scott left. Why’d you go to sleep?”

Isaac shrugged. “Stiles said he wanted to stay with Erica, and then he just kind of passed out, and I was tired anyway.”

Sighing, Derek gestured for Isaac to move and crouched again, this time next to Boyd. A tap didn’t do more than make him shift, but when Derek put his whole hand on Boyd’s shoulder, his head lifted slowly.

His first words were, “She’s okay, right?” and Derek couldn’t fight back his smile.

“Yeah, she’s alright. You guys need to get up.”

He kept his hand on Boyd’s shoulder to steady him as he disentangled himself from Stiles. Even without Boyd as a backboard, Stiles managed to keep himself upright by putting enough of his weight on Erica to create an equilibrium. All without waking up.

“Stiles,” Derek said. He pushed at Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles, wake up.”

Nothing happened. Tilting his head, Derek slapped the back of Stiles’ shoulder with a little less force than he’d used to wake him up in front of Peter’s care center. Isaac made a noise through his nose at the light hit, and Derek just huffed at him. Raising his voice to a normal level, he leaned toward Stiles’ head. “Stiles, get up!”

Stiles’ heart rate didn’t so much as jump, but Erica began to shift around, scrunching her nose up and making tiny noises that Derek could just _smell_ Boyd appreciating. Suddenly, Erica surged up to sit, unbalancing Stiles. At the last second she caught his body and twisted him as he fell until his head hit her thigh. He was still out.

Erica looked down at Stiles, then at her arm and the dark red line stretching down it. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Are you okay?” Boyd asked.

“I think so,” Erica said. She looked at Stiles again and poked him. “Stiles. Wake up.” When he didn’t move, she turned to Derek. “What’s wrong with him?”

Derek kneeled. Stiles had been fine when he’d arrived at the depot, besides being scared out of his wits. He hadn’t seen any cuts or injuries, but just to be sure he reached over and pushed Stiles’ head from one side to the other, checking his neck for a kanima cut or a bruise that would explain his inability to wake up.

To Derek’s surprise, it was Isaac who pushed between him and Erica and slapped Stiles’ cheek a little harder than necessary. “Stiles!” he shouted.

It did the trick, finally. Stiles jerked upward about an inch, before sinking down and opening his eyes to half-mast. “Dude, lemme alone,” he slurred.

The only one standing, Boyd’s shadow stretched across Stiles’ face. “Does he have a concussion?”

“How should I know?” Derek asked. If Stiles was hurt, Scott would be back at his throat in an instant. Not to mention what his Betas would do to him.

“Stiles, how many fingers am I holding up?” Boyd asked, raising his voice near the end when Stiles’ eyes began to close. He held up three fingers over Derek’s shoulder.

Stiles squinted and shifted, completely ignorant of his pillow being Erica’s leg. “Three, man, just…three. What’re you all doing here?” He managed one full blink that gave Derek hope. “Erica, hey, how are you feeling?”

“Little more worried about you right now,” Erica laughed. “Get off me.”

In order for Stiles to rise, Derek, Isaac, and Boyd had to back up. Derek scanned Stiles as he stood, checking for any weakness or loss of balance, but Stiles’ swaying was more rhythmic than unsteady. His slurring had disappeared too.

“Guys, stop staring at me. It’s weird. Where’s Scott?” Stiles yawned hard, his jaw popping so loudly Derek cringed.

Ignoring Stiles’ question, Derek looked him up and down one more time, then frowned. “He can’t drive home like this. Did you hit your head?”

“No,” Stiles frowned at him and walked toward the exit like he was slogging through mud. “Jackson didn’t even get near me. I’m just tired, dude. Haven’t you ever come down from an adrenaline rush?”

Isaac snorted. “Not like that.”

As soon as he was free of the crowded space, Stiles began to lean against the nearest beam. “I’m just…really tired.”

Another yawn, and he nearly tripped before Isaac went and threw one of Stiles’ arms over his shoulder.

Derek threw a hand up and looked over at Boyd. “He won’t even make it up his front step.”

Boyd shrugged from where his own arm was over Erica’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I mean, he doesn’t look like he’s got a concussion. Just take him in and let him get some sleep.”

“Dad’s home tonight,” Stiles mumbled. “Derek, I forgot to tell you about my dad.” He lifted his head, eyes closed, and opened his mouth. “Isaac, you do it. I’m sick of explaining things today.”

Isaac grimaced, but then Erica jumped in. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to get mad at Stiles. He just saved my life.”

“Yeah,” Stiles yawned.

Derek growled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not promising anything.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Stiles took a deep breath. “My dad knows. About everything.”

“He _what_?” Derek shouted. “You told the _sheriff_ about us?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I told my dad about me, and you guys, and everything else I could think of, so he doesn’t die trying to fight—” Stiles yawned again, making his own growl by the end of it. “Fuck, I can’t wake up. He’s on your side. He’s not coming after you. You’re safe. He’s helping.” Absently, or maybe just exhaustedly, he reached down and patted at his pockets with his free hand. “Shit, I keep forgetting I don’t have a phone. What time is it? I gotta,” another yawn, one that nearly sent Stiles to his knees, “I gotta call ’im.”

Well aware of how hard his Betas were trying to drill holes into his head with their eyes, Derek closed his eyes for a second, searching for composure. “No,” he bit out. “I told Scott I would make sure you got home. I’ll drive you.”

It was slightly insulting when he reached for Stiles and Isaac didn’t let him go. He just stared at Derek.

“Hand him over, Isaac.”

Stiles didn’t even struggle, just fell into Derek’s chest while his heart rate began to steady again. He was literally asleep on his feet. Derek couldn’t help another growl when he had to sweep Stiles up into the same carry he’d used to get Erica into the depot. He’d have thrown Stiles over his shoulder, but Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were already watching him like hawks.

It was still bright outside, making Derek’s skin itch as he walked into plain view from the street and pulled Stiles’ passenger side door open with the hand hooked under Stiles’ knees. As soon as Stiles was buckled in, he slammed the door just to see Stiles’ head tip up, then back down.

The Jeep stank, of blood and panic and chlorine, all the worst scents from the last few weeks, but it ran fine. At least Derek knew that the condition of the Jeep wasn’t from Stiles’ rough handling. It was just stupidly old.

“You’d better not be dying,” he muttered to a sleeping Stiles. It felt incriminating just to drive the car, knowing every police officer in town would recognize it as Stiles’.

He pulled up in front of Stiles’ house and climbed out, locking the door behind him. Once he’d gotten Stiles’ door open, and his buckle undone, Derek glanced over at the house. There was no way Stiles would be able to walk himself to his door, and it wasn’t like Derek could play ding-dong-ditch with Stiles’ body.

He growled loud and sharp, putting a little extra Alpha power into it. Stiles shot wide awake this time, if only for a few seconds. As soon as he caught a glimpse of Derek, he slouched again.

“Stiles, you have to wake up. If I bring your unconscious body to your father he’ll shoot me.”

A few more jerks, and Stiles slithered his way out of the car, barely catching himself on the open door. “I’m good. It’s good. I’ll just walk.”

Exactly one step away from the car, he nearly toppled. Derek growled again and caught him up in another carry. “For the love of god, Stiles. You have to have a concussion.”

“I _don’t_ , though. I’ve had one before.” Stiles’ eyes weren’t even open. “I’m not dizzy or nauseous…I don’t have memory loss. I have balance, I do. I didn’t even hit my head. Not even a little…Just tired.”

Rather than risk Stiles falling to the ground again, Derek just kicked at the door to knock and maneuvered Stiles into hanging on the doorframe. “Can you at least stand up?”

“Yes. Kinda.”

The door opened on Stiles planting his feet under himself for a solid couple seconds, so Derek could let go. Before Derek could speak, or possibly run, Stiles held up a hand.

“Dad, I’m fine. This is Derek. You do _not_ get to talk to him while I’m unconscious.” Shuffling, he made his way into his dad’s space, forcing him to either grab Stiles or let him hit the floor.

The sheriff’s face flushed red and he glared daggers at Derek, making him back up a couple steps. “What did you do to my son?”

“Nothing!” Stiles mumbled.

Derek took another step back. “Nothing, I didn’t do anything to him. He’s fine, or so he says. Just tired. He just passed out after—after he saved Erica’s life. She had a seizure and he brought her to me. He says it’s adrenaline.”

The sheriff managed to shift Stiles into a hold that pulled him against his body to keep him up, without losing eye contact with Derek.

It finally broke when Stiles slapped his dad’s arm. “Stop it. We’re going inside now, and Derek’s leaving. Bye Derek. Thanks, Alpha. Shoo.”

With what little force he had, Stiles began to shove his dad backwards until he could reach the edge of the door and slam it on Derek.

Behind the door, Derek could hear the sheriff speak. “ _What did you call him?_ ”

“ _Alpha, dad. He’s an Alpha, that’s just how it goes. Can I please go to bed now?_ ”

Derek bolted, heading for the alley behind the Stilinski house to get out of sight of the main road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> It felt really patronizing to have Scott comforting Melissa after what he did (at least as far she knows at the moment), not to mention that really disrespectful "T.V's broken. I need the laptop for school. What about work?" shit. This is not time for Scott to be the hero or snarky or pointing out the flaws in everything his mother says. This is him screwing up and his mom being Rightfully Angry. Melissa deserved to get to be angry, even if later she would find out his reasoning behind what happened, so I let her.  
> Oh, also, I changed it to a Geometry test, because we actually _saw_ Scott bolt out of the middle of a Geometry test when he has his panic attack about Allison in S1. Ta da, see? Continuity, really _not_ that hard to do, if they tried.  
> Plus there's that whole....letting the sheriff in on the secret _way_ sooner than the show did. I couldn't help myself, okay? I just couldn't. I fucking _hated_ seeing how ripped up Stiles' relationship with his dad was, so I sort of changed it all? I also had issues with the whole "I don't trust my own son, but I trust Scott" bullshit, and that _really_ pissed me off, so don't fucking expect to see that shit in here.  
> Some people have mentioned Derek's behavior, and guys, I feel you. The positively _horrendous_ behavior and mindset Derek exhibits in the show made me so fucking mad, and it didn't many any Sense to me. So...again...I changed it. Hey, this is a re-write, what did you expect?


	8. Episode 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, so I wanna apologize in advance. I always forget that this episode gets kinda heavy at the end, so just be prepared okay?

Waking up was like swimming through a pool of tar: dark, difficult, and exhausting in and of itself. Stiles’d promised himself he’d never have to go swimming again, so he was a little annoyed at having to do it even metaphorically in order to open his eyes. At least once he got his lids open far enough to see the ceiling of his bedroom, it got a little easier to move.

With stiff arms, Stiles reached up next to his head to smack the button of his alarm clock. If he hurried, he could get in a shower before school: anything to get the sweat and plaster dust off of him. For all he knew there was asbestos or something in the ceiling of the library and Jackson’s tail had knocked it all loose.

It took a little longer than he’d hoped to get cleaned up, so Stiles was in a hurry by the time he got downstairs to grab breakfast. He made for the cupboard, hoping there were some of those fudgey granola bars left that he’d let his dad splurge on the week before.

“You’re awake,” his dad said, startling Stiles from where he was leaning against the counter, cradling a mug of coffee.

“Yup, and late,” Stiles responded. There was one left, and Stiles felt no shame about snatching it out of the box.

His dad set down his mug. “I’ll write you a note for school.”

With the granola bar halfway to his mouth, Stiles paused. “Uh, why?”

“Because we need to talk. You owe me another explanation.”

Stiles drooped back against the counter, his forward momentum lost. “Shit, right.”

“Language.”

“Sorry. Uh, okay. So, first off. I’m fine. It’s all good.” Stiles gazed around the room as he organized his thoughts. “So, yesterday I told you I got detention. Apparently whoever’s got Jackson by the—” he paused, “throat, decided to be monumentally creepy and went after Allison in the locker room. Scott kind of lost it, and Harris caught us. We had detention, figured out why Jackson even turned into the kanima—it’s pretty awful stuff to do with his birth parents—and then Jackson went scaly. But it was weird, Dad, it was like…like he only went halfway to the kanima.”

Frowning, his dad grabbed the mug again. “What’s that supposed to mean? He still had some control?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, no, whoever it is was pulling _all_ the strings, but it was like they were, I don’t know, losing control of themselves? Like, they were just so angry, that they couldn’t even pick whether they wanted Jackson to shift or not. Anyway, they made him write on this chalkboard, which was really kind of pathetic. But while he was destroying the library, which, by the way, is kind of a wreck and I’m sorry, he slashed Erica. I told you about the venom.

“And even though Erica’s bite was supposed to fix her epilepsy, she had a seizure anyway. And it went on for _forever_. We got her to Derek in time though. He had to break her arm to get the healing process going—”

“Excuse me? Derek Hale broke a teenage girl’s arm?”

“He had to! He had to trigger the healing process, and the only way to do that is to give it something to heal. It worked too. I was gonna call you, but apparently Scott left while I fell asleep.”

Stiles took a bite of his granola and hoped that would be the end of things, but his dad seemed to have other ideas. Waving Stiles over to the “dining table of hard talks,” as Stiles had come to think of it, he took a seat and another sip of his coffee. “You wanna tell me what that was about? Why Derek Hale had to bring you back to me?”

Rubbing at his eyes, Stiles spoke through a mouthful, “Will you stop calling him ‘Derek Hale’ like he’s still a fugitive? He’s just Derek, Dad.” At his dad’s slight glare, Stiles finished chewing and swallowed. “Okay, look. I have _no clue_ why I was so out of it. I mean, I didn’t get hit with anything, no bruises to be found. It had to have just been me crashing from all the adrenaline. I was freaking out pretty badly before we got Erica to Derek. And, as for him bringing me home, I think—you know, I bet it’s cus’ Scott agreed to join his pack. I totally forgot.”

“Scott _what_?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dad, I told you. Werewolves, packs, it’s basic stuff. Scott refused to join Derek’s before, because he’s dumb and stubborn, and Derek’s kind of a d—dirtbag. But last night, before I fell asleep, Isaac told me Scott’d agreed to join the pack. Now that everybody’s working together, it’ll be so much easier.”

His dad sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. “What does that have to do with you, Stiles? Are you…are you pack too?”

“Yup. I guess, a sort of pack-adjacent? Like a pack-in-law. Or, maybe not, since Derek said there’s not really a gray area. Either you’re pack or you’re not.”

“You don’t sound too affected by all this.”

The granola bar was slightly squished as Stiles squeezed it in his fist. “Uh, there’s a reason for that.”

Instantly, his dad squinted at him. “And what reason would that be?”

“The reason that is…I was already in the pack?” Stiles flinched, but his dad looked too dumbstruck to be angry, so he rushed forward. “And I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t think it really mattered in the grand scheme of things, since he kind of kicked me out for being friends with Scott. But now that Scott’s in the pack as well, I think I’m back in…maybe? It would explain why he brought me back. Gotta appease those Alpha rules about keeping pack safe.”

When his dad lifted a finger and opened his mouth, Stiles spoke over him, trying to just skip to the inevitable question. “And I know you’re thinking, well then why aren’t I a werewolf? Because I’m not, by the way. Totally human, I promise. Derek said that there were some humans in his old pack, so even though I’m ‘in’ the pack, I don’t have to get the bite.”

Again, his dad’s mouth opened, and again Stiles babbled. “Which, it’s not like Derek actually offered. I mean, there was that three seconds the night I asked to join the pack where I think he _maybe_ would have gone for it? But he was a little crazy, and now that he’s got Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, there’s no way. Besides, I think Scott would outright kill him if I ever got the bite. Not that I even _want_ —”

“Stiles!” his dad interrupted. “Can I talk now?”

“Uh…yeah.”

Gesturing a little with his hands, his dad asked, “So what does this whole ‘pack’ thing mean? What does it mean to be a part of it?”

That, Stiles had to think about. He rubbed his hands together a little before resting them on the table. “I’m not…entirely sure. Derek never got the chance to really explain it. But see,” he held his hands out to demonstrate, “he said there’s like a bond, a connection or something, between pack members. And since I’m human, I can’t feel it the same way the others do, but there’s still something there. It’s like…like when I’m worried about one of them, it’s way more than it probably should be? Like, that second on a roller coaster where you hit the apogee, and right as you start to drop it’s like everything just sort of freezes? My heart’s in my throat and I can’t really breathe, and I just know I have to do _something_.”

To his surprise, his dad nodded, “Like losing a kid in a store.”

“I guess? But it also does _real_ stuff too. Derek said that having pack members makes them all stronger, literally. He’s more powerful, the more Betas he’s got. I still don’t know if I do anything, though, as a human. And they keep you a little more sane, especially on the full moon, apparently. It’s a lot of stuff all sort of patch-worked together.”

“Right.”

After a few seconds, Stiles began to fidget. “Can I go to school now?”

At his dad’s nod, Stiles dashed toward the door, but stopped at the last second. “Can I have that note, too?”

By lunch, Stiles felt like a goddamn ping-pong ball. After dragging Stiles out of first period the second the bell rang, Scott’d been shoving Stiles the opposite direction of Jackson at every sniff.

“It’s not like he knows what he did, Scott,” Stiles reminded him, planting his tray on their table and sliding into his seat. They’d called the main dish “Chicken Parmesan,” but the food in front of him was essentially a chicken patty with a handful of mozzarella on top. Still, it was hot, and there were tater tots, so Stiles wasn’t complaining.

Scott had already dug into his food, and he spoke with a cheek full. “He can’t be trusted, not if whoever’s controlling him can hear when we talk to him. They _had_ to know we were onto them in the library, so they set Jackson off to send a message. It’s for his own good, Stiles.”

A tray dropped down on either side of Stiles, and then one landed next to Scott. On Stiles’ right, appeared Erica. On his left, Boyd. Both sat just _slightly_ too close to his sides, bumping their chairs with his. Across from them, Isaac rolled his eyes and sat next to Scott, keeping an appropriate distance.

“Hey, Catwoman, how’re you feeling?” Stiles asked, cutting into his chicken patty with a plastic fork. It was about 30% breading, exactly as he’d suspected.

Erica popped a tater tot into her mouth. “Purr-fect.”

Scott looked around at the Betas. “Uh, what’re you guys doing here?”

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Isaac asked. He took his own bite of lunch and chewed exaggeratedly. Then, he leaned in and sniffed Scott, frowning at him. “You…do not smell weird.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Isaac was busy blinking at Erica and Boyd, who both sniffed, squinted, and shrugged. It was like Scott’d failed some kind of test.

“Anyway…” Stiles waved a hand to get everyone’s attention. “What’s our plan here? If we can’t actually _talk_ to Jackson, how are we supposed to keep him from killing people?”

Shrugging, Scott offered, “I can follow him.”

“Yeah, but then what?” Stiles ate a tater tot and wiped his greasy hand on his jeans. “We need _more_. Derek had to basically rip the kanima’s guts out to get him to back off, and by the time we got to Jackson he was already healed. There’s gotta be something. What about Deaton?”

“What about him?”

“Well, could he help? You said he knew how to deal with the wolfsbane bullets.” Stiles raised his hand. “And there was that thing with Peter not being able to get in the office. Maybe he’s got something like that, something to protect us. You and Derek should talk to him.”

Scott scowled. “The last time Derek went near Deaton he tied him up and beat him.”

“Yeah, because he thought Deaton was lying about something, which he _was_. If he’d just—”

“Fine! Fine,” Scott jabbed at his food. “I’ll text Derek.”

Erica finally spoke up. “Did you say, Deaton? As in, Alan Deaton? The _vet_?”

Turning to her, Stiles nodded. “Yeah, you know him?”

“We used to have a cat. How is the local vet supposed to help us?”

“He’s not just a vet. He’s…well, he’s something. Possibly evil,” Stiles said.

“No, he’s not!” Scott cried.

Boyd looked between them. “I’m actually on Stiles’ side. The guy’s creepy.”

Stiles grinned widely and spread his hands. “See? Isn’t this whole pack thing fun? I, for one, am having a great time.”

* * *

Though Erica and Boyd had nearly begged to come with him to Deaton’s, Derek wasn’t interested in completely exposing his pack to the vet. There was still something _off_ about him. Instead, he brought Isaac, because while he could send Erica and Boyd home, he would be stuck listening to Isaac’s complaints for the rest of the night if he didn’t let him come. Besides, it would be easier to deal with Scott if Isaac were around. At least, he hoped.

“He doesn’t smell right, Derek,” Isaac argued in the car, dashing said hopes to pieces. “I’m telling you, something’s wrong. Stiles, Erica, _and_ Boyd all smelled like pack right after they joined.”

Derek sighed. “And I told _you_ , bonds don’t always form as fast as they did with Erica and Boyd. I could barely feel Jackson’s bond for the ten whole seconds it lasted.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel _anything_. And he doesn’t either.”

“It takes _time_ , Isaac.”

“Well, how long did it take with Stiles? You said he only joined because he was trying to keep you from going crazy. Did it take forever with him?”

Derek didn’t answer right away. “Stiles is…weird.”

Snorting, Isaac crossed his arms and stared out the window, shifting just enough to call Derek’s attention to the fact that he was shrinking in on himself. “Yeah, well…what if I don’t want to bond with him? What if I don’t want him in the pack?”

“ _What?_ ”

“You heard me!” Isaac cried. “I’m just saying what Erica and Boyd won’t. Scott was a piece of _shit_ after we got bit. He told Stiles I had _bloodlust_. He told Erica he didn’t care about her seizures, and he basically called Boyd stupid. What if we don’t _want_ him? Why do we need him, anyway?”

It took everything Derek had not to pull over so he could shout properly. Instead, he squeezed the steering wheel and huffed at the road until he was sure his words wouldn’t come out in a growl. “Because. If Scott isn’t a part of our pack, we’re going to spend all of our time fighting _him_ instead of dealing with the kanima and the Argents. Because, the more people in our pack, the safer and stronger we are. Because, however much he argues, he _needs_ us.” As they got closer to the clinic, Derek slowed the car, trying to keep out of hearing range. “You don’t have to like him, Isaac. None of you do. But, if nothing else, you have to put up with him. If it helps, pretend you’re doing it for Stiles’ sake.”

“Are you gonna kick Stiles out of the pack again if this bond doesn’t take?”

Shaking his head, Derek pulled into the empty parking lot of the clinic and turned the car off. “That depends on Stiles.”

Apparently, Derek had made the mother of all misjudgments when he thought Isaac and Scott would get along, because Scott looked just as pissed about Isaac being there, as Isaac was about him.

“Why is he here?” Scott asked, once he’d unlocked the door for them.

“Because, I need him,” Derek decided. Even if his other reasons had fallen through, he still wanted Isaac around. He was the pack member Derek spent the most time with anyway, and now that Isaac’d rediscovered the concept of personal space, it was easier to be around him.

Scott scoffed. “Fine, but he better not sniff me anymore.”

“You couldn’t pay me,” Isaac snapped.

“Would the both of you just shut up?” Derek asked. “Is the vet gonna help us or not?”

From the doorway, Deaton spoke, and Derek tried not to breathe too deeply. There it was again, that cloying stink that covered up any and all chemosignals or scents that might’ve given him a hint as to Deaton’s intentions.

He also had to try not to snort when Isaac started coughing.

“That depends—”

“God, what _are_ you?” Isaac interrupted, covering up his nose. “Are you a witch?” He turned to Derek. “Is that what witches smell like?”

There was no particular reason for Derek to dislike Deaton, other than that he once thought Deaton was the Alpha, but there was a certain amount of joy to be taken from Deaton’s displeased expression. “No, I’m a veterinarian. Why don’t we get this over with?”

Scott followed Deaton into the exam room, making faces at Isaac, who was making similar faces at Derek.

Surprising himself, Derek chuckled a quiet, “I know,” and bumped Isaac’s shoulder with his own to lead him to the room.

Inside, Deaton had taken down a small rack of glass bottles, each labelled with a simple symbol and containing a different kind of herb. When Isaac reached out for one of them, Derek pulled his wrist back. “Watch what you touch.”

He had absolutely no faith that Deaton wouldn’t keep things in the open that might be dangerous for a werewolf.

“Unfortunately,” Deaton said, peeking at a couple of his bottles. “I don’t see anything here that’s gonna be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin. That’s mostly chemical, not supernatural.”

Isaac leaned down to put his elbows on the table and stare at the bottles. “What about an effective offense? Something that would weaken him?”

Derek nodded. “I nearly took his head off and Argent emptied an entire clip into him. He just gets back up.”

“Has it shown _any_ weaknesses?” Deaton asked.

“One—it can’t swim.”

“Does that go for Jackson as well?”

Scott shook his head. “No, he’s the captain of the swim team.”

Pushing aside the rack, Deaton rested his hands on the table. “Well, you’re essentially trying to catch two people: a puppet, and a puppeteer. Scott?”

Like he’d been prepping for it, Scott looked at Isaac and Derek. “So, Stiles’ dad told him about this couple that was attacked the other night. Someone killed the husband, but they didn’t go after the wife. They just left her there. But then, my mom got home last night and told me that she’d been killed too. Suffocated right after she gave birth.”

“So, we can assume the kanima killed the husband, but why did the master have to be the one to kill the wife?” Deaton said, sounding like he was holding a lecture for a class rather than trying to stop a murderer.

Scott frowned. “I don’t think Jackson could do it. His mother died pregnant too, and she was maybe murdered. I think he couldn’t let the same thing happen to someone else.”

“How do you know it’s not part of the rules?” Isaac asked. “The kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wife, then the baby dies too.”

“Does that mean your father was a murderer?” Scott twisted his face up with confusion.

Isaac’s heart didn’t so much as skip a beat. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he was.”

This wasn’t helping. Even if the kanima had to follow certain rules, or if Jackson somehow had enough control to keep from killing the wife, it wasn’t stopping him from killing everyone else and clearly the master had no problem finishing the jobs he missed. None of this was going to help them _stop_ it.

“Hold on,” Deaton said. “The book says they’re bonded, right?”

Derek nodded.

“What if the fear of water isn’t coming from Jackson, or the kanima’s rules, but from the person controlling him? What if something that affects the kanima also affects its master?”

“But that’s the whole problem,” Derek burst. “You just said you don’t have anything that’ll affect the kanima.”

Bobbing his head, Deaton grabbed one of the glass bottles. It was the most full of the lot, with some kind of black powder. “Not directly. But I have something that might still do the trick. A sort of trap.”

Scott smiled. “So we can catch them. Both of them.”

* * *

After the last few days, it was the least Stiles could do to grab some dinner and bring it to the station. Nobody there was giving him any kind of eye contact, but Stiles smiled at them all anyway and held up the food cartons until they let him in.

“Aw, what the hell is this?” His dad spoke through a bite of the burger, dropping it back into the carton in dismay.

Stiles continued pulling food out, unfazed. “Veggie burger.”

“Stiles, I asked for a hamburger.”

“Well, veggie is healthier,” Stiles retorted. He held up his own tub of salad, complete with a plastic fork taped to the top. “We’re being healthy.”

Sighing, Noah pulled the rubber band off the lid to his side dish. As soon as the top popped off, he groaned, “Aw, hell, why are you trying to ruin my life?”

Stiles blinked over at the celery and carrots in the dish. They looked fine to him. “I’m trying to _extend_ your life. Could you just eat it, please? And tell me what you found.”

“Don’t get cocky, son. I told you, this is only temporary. Do you know how much trouble I could get in for sharing confidential police work with a teenager?”

“Yeah, yeah. What do we have?”

Satisfied that he’d done his fatherly duty in complaining, Noah stuck a thumb over his shoulder toward the evidence board on the wall. “It’s all right there. Now, the mechanic, the husband, and the wife, all had something in common.”

“All three?”

“Yeah. You know what I always say. One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence—”

“Three’s a pattern.” It was a sacred proverb in the Stilinski house. The third time Stiles forgot a chore, he’d get punished for it. The third time his dad gave an order, it was _serious_ business. They didn’t even get takeout more than two times a week just to avoid the pattern.

His dad counted them out on his fingers. “The mechanic, the husband, the wife—all the same age. All twenty-four.”

“But what about Mr. Lahey? Isaac’s dad isn’t anywhere near twenty-four.”

Nodding, his dad continued. “Which made me think that either ‘A,’ Lahey’s murder wasn’t connected, or ‘B,’ the ages were a coincidence, until I found this, which would be ‘C.’”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small folder, handing it over to Stiles.

As Stiles flipped it open to look through the pages, his dad explained, “Did you know that Isaac Lahey had an older brother named Camden?”

Reading off the big red stamp on the page in front of him, Stiles said, “‘Died in combat?’”

“But if he were alive today, take one guess as to how old he’d be?”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Twenty-four.”

Grabbing at his to-go cup, Stiles took a sip of his perfectly healthy apple juice and stood up, coming around his dad’s desk to look at the board. His dad stood up too, crossing his arms and thumbing at his lips.

Spitballing, Stiles said, “What if same age means same class—I mean, did you think of that?”

His dad nodded. “I called the school and had them fax over records earlier today, just in case, but I haven’t had a chance to get through them. I just got Lahey’s file two hours ago.”

“Two hours?” Stiles cried. “Dad, people could be dying!”

“Yes, I’m _aware_ of that, thank you.” He twisted and grabbed a large packet of papers. “There’s about three dozen papers here, and they aren’t even organized.”

Snatching them up, Stiles flipped through them, skimming for any familiar names. “They all went to Beacon Hills, right?”

“Including Isaac’s brother.”

“Alright, but so what if they all knew each other, you know?” Stiles said absently, licking a thumb to flick the papers aside faster. “Two of them were married, maybe they all just hung out.”

Finally, Stiles struck gold and yanked out a sheet that had all the names he was looking for, handing it off to his dad without processing anything else on the paper.

“Or, they had the same class together. The same teacher,” his dad said.

He turned the paper back to Stiles for him to look at properly. In the corner of the page was a teacher I.D photo with a caption. “Harris? They were all in his class?”

“All four. Now, I don’t know how Mr. Lahey fits in—but this, kid, this is definitely a pattern. We need to put faces to these names. We need the 2005 yearbook.” 

He grabbed for the phone, but Stiles put out a hand. “I can get it. I can just check it out from the library tomorrow and bring it to the station after school. Or even at lunch. Trust me, it’ll be faster than requesting it.”

“You should probably bring it at lunch.”

“Got it.”

—

Scott filled Stiles in on following Jackson last night on the way to school.

“There’s gotta be some other way to get tickets, right?” he asked.

“It’s a secret rave,” Stiles reminded him. “There’s only one way, and it’s a secret.”

“Hey.”

Stiles swung around to see Matt. As usual, all his little evildoer alarm bells went off. How did no one else see the creepy? It was in the eyes…they were all…blue. And evil.

Smiling creepily, Matt spoke. “Either of you guys know why no one’s getting suspended after what happened the other day at school?”

“Just forget about it,” Stiles said. “Nobody got hurt.”

Erica had gotten hurt, but that was temporary.

Matt’s brows furrowed. “I had a concussion.”

“Well, nobody got _seriously_ hurt.”

“I was in the ER for six hours!”

Biting at his lips, Stiles snapped. “Hey, do you wanna know the truth, Matt? Your little bump on the head is about _this_ —” he bent over and held his hand about two inches above the sidewalk, “high on our list of problems right now!”

Matt just stared at him, and Stiles resisted the urge to bare his teeth. Werewolves had it so easy with the fangs and the intimidation.

Scott played mediator for possibly the first time since he’d gotten the bite. “Are you okay?” he asked Matt.

“Yeah, I’m fine, now. I saw you didn’t get any tickets last night.”

“Are they still selling?”

“No, but I managed to find two online. You should keep trying, sounds like everyone’s gonna be there.”

As Matt walked away, Stiles just shook his head. “I don’t like him.” He patted Scott’s arm. “Hey, are you sure about this?”

Scott tucked his thumbs behind the straps of his backpack. “Last time, whoever’s controlling Jackson had to kill somebody because he didn’t finish the job, so what do you think he’s gonna do this time?”

Scowling, Stiles kicked at the sidewalk and nodded. “Be there to make sure it happens. I still hate it.”

He continued to hate it all the way through morning practice, and then especially hated it once they got back to the locker rooms and Isaac came over.

“You get the tickets?”

Stiles snorted. “Not unless I wanna spend like three hundred dollars online. Fucking scalpers. Why? Do you guys have them?”

Isaac shrugged, leaning against a rack. “Yeah. As soon as Scott texted, Derek bought one for Erica and I. Boyd’s gonna be outside the building with him.”

“He just dropped all that money instantly?” Stiles scoffed, pulling off an arm pad.

“Yup. It’s like having a sugar daddy.” Isaac waggled his eyebrows and tugged off his own padding, tossing it with perfect precision toward his cubby.

After slapping him on the arm, _gently_ , in scolding, Stiles tilted his head. “Well, he _is_ your dad though, isn’t he? Like, legally.”

Isaac screwed his face up in disgust. “Dude, no. He’s my legal guardian until I’m eighteen. There’s a difference.”

Their conversation had to pause as Danny came to sit on the bench, but seeing him gave Stiles an idea. He slapped Scott’s arm, who was closest, and pointed at Danny sharply. Just as Scott leaned in, though, the door to Finstock’s office flew open, nearly hitting a kid standing in its arc.

“Can anybody tell me where the hell Jackson is, and why he missed morning practice?” Finstock yelled.

Leaning toward Scott, Stiles whispered, “ _Do_ we know where he is?”

“Stilinski!” Finstock raised a hand and gestured toward him with two fingers. “Jackson?”

“Sorry, Coach. I haven’t seen him since the last time I saw him,” Stiles bluffed.

For a second, it looked like it’d worked. Then, “And when was that?”

Stiles twitched. “The last time I saw him? Was definitely the time I saw him…last.”

Finstock just looked away, toward Danny, and leaned over. “Again, Danny, tell Jackson no missing practice this close to the championships, okay?”

Ever the people-pleaser, Danny just said, “Sure, Coach.”

After all his yelling, Finstock seemed to have lost his steam. “That goes for all of you.” He grabbed the door handle to his office and pulled the door closed, muttering, “I should be coaching college.”

Once Danny walked off and kept his stupid tickets to himself, Stiles was out of ideas. It felt as natural as anything to lean back against Isaac and groan.

“How do you two losers even survive?” Isaac asked.

Though Stiles snorted and went to flick Isaac on the chin, Scott didn’t look amused. “What are we supposed to do, then?” he asked.

Sighing, but not moving away from Stiles, Isaac pulled his phone out and tapped at it with one hand, keeping the screen up out of Stiles’ view just for the sake of being a shit, going by his laughter. A moment later, he held the screen out for both Stiles and Scott to read.

**D: Done.**

“Done? Done with what? And you seriously have Derek in your contacts as ‘D?’” Stiles’ heart started palpitating at the mere thought of so unorganized a system. Contact names were _important,_ damn it.

Isaac shrugged. “He got the tickets for you guys.”

Stiles jerked, pulling away from Isaac to stare at him, then at his phone. “What? Dude, I _looked_ for tickets. They’re like a hundred and fifty bucks a pop at this point.”

Another shrug.

Scott grinned, dropping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Nice.”

“Yeah,” Stiles hissed, “Nice. _Too_ nice.”

Taking the time to actually look around the nearly deserted locker rooms, Isaac swung a hand out and pulled Stiles in by the back of the neck, headbutting him gently. “How many times do we have to tell you? Pack, dude.”

He wandered out of the room with the same nonchalance he showed everything lately, like he was too high for anything to reach him or drag him back down. It was miles different than what Stiles remembered Isaac Lahey being, but a good different.

Stiles’ jaw was still dropped in shock when Scott bumped shoulders with him. “What is with them and the touching? Do you want me to make them stop?”

“What? No, don’t worry about it. It’s just a pack thing—” Stiles choked a little, “I mean, I think. Before too long you’ll be as handsy as they are. No biggie.”

“Yeah…” Scott said, playing with the cuff of his shirt. “Don’t—Don’t get too used to them, okay?”

Blinking, Stiles went over to his locker and started changing. “What’s that supposed to mean? The pack bonds only get stronger over time.”

He blanched at saying too much again, but Scott didn’t seem to notice. “Just don’t get used to it. I mean, this thing with Derek might not even work out.”

“Of course it will, Scott. You just have to try. You _and_ Derek need to get your heads out of your asses, and agreeing to be pack with him is an awesome first step.” Back in his normal clothes, Stiles met Scott at the door to head to English. “I’m proud of you, don’t worry so much.”

Deaton would never fail to give Stiles the jeebies. Maybe it was the eye contact. Deaton _always_ had to make perfect eye contact, and it freaked the life out of Stiles. Standing in his lair, because _yes_ , it was totally some kind of lair, Stiles kept Scott between him and Deaton while they spoke.

“Ketamine?” Scott asked. “I thought we were just here for—”

“Yes, but I thought this might help buy you some time.” Deaton put down the injector and the bottle in front of Scott, then grabbed another bottle from the counter and held it up. There was a label on the front, but it only had a single vertical line, with two horizontal ones coming out of its center. Why couldn’t any of this mystic shit be in English? “And this is some of what you’ll use to create the barrier.” There was that eye contact. “This part is for you, Stiles.” He clanked the jar down onto the table. “Only you.”

Stiles leaned forward and swiped the bottle up to peer at it. The black powder inside didn’t look like it could do anything special. And even if it could, why did Stiles have to be the only one who could use it? “Uh…that sounds like a lot of pressure. Can we maybe find a slightly less pressure-filled task for me?”

“It’s from the Mountain Ash tree,” Deaton explained, “which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural.” He turned away to gesture, and Stiles relished the momentary break from staring into his eyes. It always felt like some kind of dare. “This office is lined with Ashwood, making it difficult for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble.”

Thinking, Stiles put the bottle back down. “So, it…what? It neutralizes them, knocks them out?”

“Like I said, it’s a barrier. Most supernatural beings can’t cross it.”

“You’re telling me you had something that could hold Scott, _really_ hold him, this entire time? He nearly _killed_ Allison— _would_ have killed her, if Derek hadn’t gotten to him—because I thought we didn’t have another option. He had to lock himself in a fucking freezer! And you just kept this to yourself?” Stiles snapped.

Scott spoke first, shaking his head. “He already explained it all, Stiles. He’s not supposed to get involved. He’s breaking like a billion rules just helping us with this.”

Stiles scoffed, “Are you kidding me?”

“He already explained it!” Scott repeated.

“Then explain it to me!”

“We don’t have time!”

“Boys,” Deaton interrupted. “Scott is right, we don’t have time. Stiles, you need to be prepared to use this.” He pointed at the bottle. “Think of it like gunpowder. It’s just powder, until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles.”

Crossing his arms only relieved a little of the tension in Stiles’ shoulders. “If you mean light myself on fire, I don’t think I’m up for that. If this is so damn hard to do, why aren’t you coming with and doing it yourself?”

Deaton dodged the question with a smile. “It’s really not that difficult. Let me try a different analogy. I used to golf. I learned that the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind, and their mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish.”

Resigned to his fate, Stiles let out a breath. “Force of will.”

“If this is going to work, Stiles, you have to _believe_ it.” With an uplifting hand gesture to complete the look, Deaton was clearly trying hard not to laugh.

Caught between scowling and trying to take the advice seriously, Stiles raised his hands as well and breathed deeply, humming his understanding.

There were still a few hours left before the rave got started, so Stiles headed home and let Scott do his actual job. It was just as well, since his mom was still furious about the restraining order, the detention, and Scott disappearing _during_ the detention. If she caught Stiles at the clinic when she came to pick Scott up, he worried she might just have an aneurysm.

Being home was boring and isolating. He knew only the basics of what Scott and Derek’s plan was, but it didn’t seem like there was much more to prep. There were two garbage bags of the mountain ash that he was supposed to use sitting in the back of his Jeep, and Scott already had the injector with the sedative. Without a phone, Stiles didn’t have a way to see what anyone else was doing.

The opening of the front door was a surprise, along with the abnormally quiet taps of his dad’s boots. Eager for something to occupy himself with, Stiles jumped up from the couch and looked to the doorway for his dad’s arrival. There were familiar sounds, the clink of keys being hung up, the rustle of his dad’s jacket getting tossed over the back of a kitchen chair. Then the small thunk of something hitting the counter.

“Hey, did the yearbook do you any—” Stiles dropped off as his dad entered the room, slow and somber.

Something was wrong, and Stiles scanned his dad over. “What happened? Where’s your gun?”

Noah’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but he pulled one out to run through his hair as he stepped forward. “It…is at the station. Along with my badge, and the cruiser.”

“What?”

“It’s alright. It’s not—it couldn’t be helped.”

Stiles shook his head. “Dad, what happened?”

Although Stiles knew that his dad only put his hand up like that to warn off Stiles’ anxiety, a motion he used when he came home hurt, or when someone at work was sick, it had the opposite effect. Every time Stiles saw that hand up, he knew something had gone wrong.

“Stiles, it’s fine. We can—”

“Dad!”

At his dad’s gesture, Stiles sat back down on the couch and let his dad sink into the armchair. Noah rubbed his hands together before twining his fingers at his knees. “It was decided that the son of the sheriff stealing police property and having a restraining order filed against him by one of the town’s most respected attorneys did not reflect well on the county,” he recited.

Stiles’ heart sank. “I—I got you fired?”

Noah shook his head softly, “Nah, it’s just a leave of absence. It’s temporary.”

“Did _they_ say it’s temporary, or…”

The look on his dad’s face was all the answer Stiles needed.

“Stiles, it’s fine, okay? We’re gonna be fine.”

Voice cracking, Stiles asked, “Why aren’t you angry at me? I—I lied to you and I got you _fired_.”

“I’m not fired, Stiles,” Noah said. He crossed the space to sit on the coffee table in front of Stiles. “Listen to me. Mischief, listen.”

Breathing fast, Stiles looked up from the patch of carpet he’d zoned out on.

“This is _not_ your fault.”

“What? Yeah, it is!”

“No! It’s not. Yes, you took the van, but I know _why_ now. You were trying to protect Jackson, and the rest of the town. You did a _good thing_.”

Stiles scoffed. “It didn’t even _work_. Jackson still got out and killed someone, and you basically lost your job!”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it to try, Stiles.” His dad clasped his hands together again and used his thumbs to rub at his eyebrow for a moment. “This is temporary, I told you. And it doesn’t mean that I can’t help you with tonight. I’ll just call in the tip myself.”

When Stiles dropped by the station at lunch to hand over the yearbook he’d checked out, his dad had offered to use the claim of an anonymous tip to order an evacuation of the warehouse the rave was being held at in case they couldn’t flush the kanima’s master out with just Jackson. 

But now, his dad was on the verge of losing his job, and Stiles didn’t really care about the kanima. “No way, there isn’t an officer at the station who wouldn’t recognize your voice on the phone, and if they catch you giving bad tips they’ll never let you come back. Dad, you have to stay away from this.”

“Stiles,” his dad protested, “I’m not just going to sit at home while you put yourself in danger. You can’t ask me to do that.”

Stiles stood up just to get out some nervous energy and walked to the center of the room before turning back. “I’ll be fine! I have the whole pack behind me. Scott, Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Derek. They’re all gonna have my back. I can’t let you get fired because of me.”

“I don’t even know these people, Stiles!” Standing, his dad gestured toward the window like Isaac was just waiting outside. “You tell me they’re your pack, but Stiles, you’re not an animal. You’re not a werewolf, either! They might be pack, but we are family and I’m not letting you go unless I’m there next to you.”

Groaning, Stiles buried his face in his hands. “Dad, _please_ ,” he whispered. “Please, trust me. I’m going to be safe. Scott’s going to be there. Even if you don’t trust the rest of the pack, you have to trust Scott. I’m not going to be in danger _anyway_. My only job is to pour some stupid powder around the building and make some kind of force-field thing. I’ll be outside with Derek and Boyd the whole time.”

After a second, Stiles lifted his face to see his dad covering his own eyes with a palm.

“The whole time?”

Stiles nodded, though his dad couldn’t see him. “Yeah. They only got me a ticket because Deaton hadn’t explained the whole plan yet.”

Finally, his dad looked up at him. “Promise me, Mischief. You aren’t going into that building.”

So many promises lately. Stiles had managed to keep the first one so far, this one shouldn’t be too hard. “I promise. Even if I tried, Derek would stop me. He’s got—”

“A thing about humans,” his dad interrupted. “Yeah, you mentioned. He’d better.”

Stiles left the house to pick Scott up, sure that his dad didn’t blame him and that he wasn’t angry at Stiles for the forced leave of absence. That didn’t mean he didn’t blame himself, or that he wasn’t angry with _himself_. If he’d just thought things through, considered what it would look like for him to take the van. The cherry on top of it all was his dad’s insistence on getting Stiles a new phone tomorrow, practically rewarding him for fucking up.

Derek and the Betas met them at the back of the warehouse, but Scott leaned into Stiles’ side as they climbed out of the Jeep and opened up the back.

“You okay?”

Stiles pulled out one of the mountain ash bags, grateful Deaton hadn’t filled them up entirely. Ash was heavy in such a big quantity. “Yeah, why?” Too late, he realized he’d totally lied, but Scott didn’t call him on it.

Shrugging, he just said, “You just didn’t say anything the whole way here.”

Taking his chances, Stiles dipped his head. “No, I’m fine. Can you grab the other bag?”

“I can’t. Remember, Deaton said you have to do it alone. He wouldn’t even let me touch the stuff while he was bagging it.”

Scowling, Stiles dropped his bag on the ground and grabbed the other one so he could close up the Jeep. “Of course. Love it.”

“Scott!” Derek called. Every time he came walking up with the Betas behind him, Stiles couldn’t help picturing the front of a music album.

Derek held out a hand toward Scott with a strip of paper in it. “Here.” Then, he turned to Stiles and held another one out. “This is only for an emergency. Scott told me what Deaton wants you to do.”

Stiles sighed and shoved it into his back pocket. “Yeah, I know.”

“Scott, go with Isaac and—”

“No, no no no,” Scott interrupted. He was staring at the door to the rave. “Not here, not now.” He bolted toward it and disappeared inside, leaving Stiles staring after him.

Immediately, Derek turned to Erica and Isaac. “Go after him and get to work.”

Once Erica and Isaac were gone, Stiles nodded at Boyd. He was slowly rotating his body back and forth with his hands shoved in his pockets, perfectly content to just stand and do nothing. “So, what’s your job again?”

“They get Jackson with the sedative, and when the guy controlling him freaks and tries to run, we’ll be here waiting for him.”

Stiles nodded. “Nice.”

“That means you have to get the barrier done,” Boyd added. “Soon.”

“Right, right. I’m on it.” Stiles kneeled in front of the bags and looked around. Deaton had said to go around the entire building, but looking at the size of the warehouse, he wasn’t quite sure there was enough ash here for that. “Okay, I didn’t bring a knife, but I’m thinking it’ll be easiest if we just cut a corner open a tiny bit, like one of those frosting bags. Can you poke a hole with your claw or something?”

Boyd put his hands up. “Not supposed to touch it, Stiles.”

“Fucking, why not?” Stiles growsed. “Fucking Deaton.”

Derek hadn’t been paying attention to them, too busy checking his surroundings like he was looking for a decent vantage point. Suddenly, he turned to face them, grabbing Boyd’s shoulder. “We’ve got company. Stiles, you need to get out of here.”

Stiles jumped to his feet, a bag in hand. “What? Who?”

“The Argents are coming. Now go!”

“But we need the barrier, Derek!”

Scowling, Derek looked back toward the alley, then at Stiles. “Fine, take it around the other side of the building first.”

Already lifting the first bag and just ripping at the corner with his fingernails, Stiles managed to open up a small hole at the corner that immediately stretched into a much bigger hole, spilling an entire pile of ash onto the ground. Stiles snatched at the gap to close it and keep it from getting any bigger. “Okay, what do I do when I need to finish it? I’ll have to come back here.”

“We’ll draw them away, just get moving!” Derek pulled on Boyd’s shoulder and led him a few yards away to block off the side of the alley the Argents were apparently coming from.

Stiles took a few steps toward them before starting the line, trying to get as much done of this section as he could. Once he’d backed up to the second bag, it got a little harder to control the speed that the ash escaped, so Stiles had to skitter backwards to keep the line small. Way too soon, he was around the corner and out of sight of Derek and Boyd. So much for having company while he figured out how this worked.

He didn’t really have the option of going slow as he wound his way around the building, skirting cars when he had to and coming right up to the building when he could. At the sound of gunshots, Stiles went even faster and finished off his first bag at what he hoped was the halfway point. If he could keep the line thin, there should be enough.

True to his word, when Stiles came up near the alley he’d started at, the Argents, Derek, and Boyd were nowhere to be found, and the guns going off were at the other end of the building. They’d given him the space to finish the barrier, but after only a few feet, Stiles realized it wasn’t going to happen.

Cupping his hand under the hole, Stiles let the last bits of ash fall out of the now empty bag. He had fifty feet left at _least_ , and only a handful of this stupid magic fairy dust. If he couldn’t finish the barrier then there was no point in Derek and Boyd fighting off the Argents, or Scott, Isaac, and Erica sedating Jackson. They couldn’t trap him or his master. He’d had _one_ job.

Stiles looked around himself, whining through his nose. What was he supposed to _do?_

“Deaton said,” Stiles muttered to the empty space, “what did he say? He said that it’s about belief. Belief. I just gotta believe, just imagine it working.”

A bit of white across the alley caught his gaze. It was a bumper sticker, with a quote from Einstein.

_“Imagination is more important than knowledge.”_

The fact that there wasn’t enough ash didn’t matter. Why should it? Stiles was trapped in a world of werewolves and magic powder, so why should things like physics matter? All he needed was belief.

Closing his eyes, Stiles breathed as deeply as he could and pictured the stupid barrier. It was gonna save lives, so it needed to exist, simple as that. Ever so slowly, Stiles tipped his fist and began to let the ash stream out of his fingers, taking careful steps forward. He didn’t look, didn’t even peek, too busy solidifying the image in his head of the mountain ash circle complete and activated. It would work. It _had_ to work.

As the last of the ashes fell from his now open palm, Stiles held back a shout of frustration and opened his eyes. Of course it hadn’t gone the whole way, what the hell was he thinking?

Only, when he looked down to see how short he was, Stiles saw that he was _at_ his Jeep. He’d walked the fifty feet, and the ash line was complete. Not only that, but it was a solid line, not the barest sprinkling that he’d used. Even more confusing, the pile of ash that he’d spilled while talking to Derek was gone, not a trace of it left on the concrete. Had he…

His joyous whoop was cut short by a dark figure bolting down the alley toward him from the direction of the gunfire. For a second, Stiles froze, thinking it was an Argent coming to grab him. Then, the figure tripped over his own feet and hit the ground, not getting up again.

“Boyd?” Stiles tilted his head, then he was dashing toward Boyd’s shape. “Boyd! What the hell?”

There were _holes_ in Boyd’s body, eerily similar to the one that Derek had sported months ago. His jacket hung from his body in pieces, and Boyd was gasping for air like he couldn’t get enough in.

“They’ve got him,” Boyd panted, face ashen and tinged grey. “Backed into a corner.”

Shifting around to his back, Stiles did as Scott had and lifted Boyd from under his arms. “Okay, come on. I should’ve known I’d end up with you at some point.” As he dragged Boyd toward the Camaro, he continued to talk for his own sake, to keep the nerves down. “I got all that alone time with Erica, and Isaac just shows up at my place all the time. We never hang, Boyd. Why is that? _God,_ you werewolves are fucking heavy. Is it the muscles? Derek doesn’t even float, the bastard.”

With a few shoves and a near breakdown when the door kept falling closed on Stiles while he tried to shove Boyd into the backseat, Stiles had him laid out on the leather. “I’m gonna get Scott and the others, and we’re all just gonna get out of here, okay? This was such a bad idea.”

He’d promised to stay outside, but that was before the Argents decided to shoot up a fucking teenager.

With his ticket turned in and his hands stamped, Stiles began his trek through the rave. If it were any other day, this would be his kind of place. It was a little less sexual than _Jungle_ had been, more about the dancing and the music than finding a date. But the crowding was still a bit of a problem. Pushing and shoving only got Stiles so far, and he had to veer toward the wall to find enough space for actually reaching the back of the building.

Stiles banged on the door to the nearest back room and tried to shout over the music. “Guys! Let me in! We’ve got trouble!”

As soon as it opened, he slipped through the crack and into the much quieter room. It was barely more than a broom closet, and a folding chair sat front and center with an unconscious Jackson in it.

Only Erica and Isaac were in the room.

“Where’s Scott?” Stiles asked. “We need to get out of here.”

Isaac shrugged. “When we came after him he was talking to Allison.”

“What? Allison’s here? Did you see any other Argents?”

At Erica’s shake of the head, Stiles groaned. “God, this whole thing is fucked. They’ve got Derek cornered outside and Boyd is trying his damnedest to bleed out in the back of the car.” Eyes catching on Jackson, he added, “How’d you even get him back here?”

Isaac held up the injector. “Scott gave it to me and said he was going to deal with the Argents. He told me how to use it, kind of.”

“So, he’s out?”

Erica still hadn’t said anything, and when Stiles looked over at her she’d tucked herself into the farthest corner next to the door. She was staring at Jackson like she expected him to charge her at any second.

“Mostly,” Isaac said.

To prove it, he went over to Jackson and reached out a hand to jostle him. Halfway there, Jackson’s hand came up and grabbed Isaac’s wrist, twisting it viciously without Jackson’s face even twitching. Isaac yelped and pulled at his now broken wrist until Jackson finally let go and he could fall back to Stiles’ side.

“Okay, no one does _anything_ like that again!” Stiles ordered. Erica nodded quickly and shrank even further against the door, and Stiles took Isaac’s pained groans as agreement.

“I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out for a while,” Isaac gasped.

Stiles shook his own hands out in sympathy. “Yeah, well apparently this is all we’re gonna get. Now, how are we supposed to get him out of here without getting snapped in half or noticed? Do we even know if whoever’s controlling him showed up?”

“ _I’m here_.”

Stiles jumped as Jackson’s eyes opened, aimed at the wall instead of their faces. He didn’t move the rest of his body, but his mouth was working just fine. “ _I’m right here with you._ ”

This was…weird. When Jackson was possessed at the station, he’d still sounded like himself. Allison had said the same thing about the locker room. It wasn’t like his half-possession either: there weren’t any scales or claws to be seen. It was just Jackson, but… _not_ Jackson. He sounded like a demented chorus.

Careful to keep well away from his body, Stiles crouched in front of the chair and examined him. “Jackson, is that you?”

“ _Us. We’re all here._ ”

Deaton had said they were trying to catch two people, so why would the master say “all,” instead of “both?” It was almost like they were implying that the kanima was separate. That it wasn’t just the master and the Jackson slash kanima, but the master, Jackson, _and_ the kanima. “Are you the one killing people?” Stiles asked.

“ _We’re the ones killing murderers._ ”

“So all the people you’ve killed so far—”

“ _Deserved it._ ”

Stiles cocked his jaw and squinted, as if he could see the master’s identity if he only looked hard enough. “That’s what the rulebook we have says, yeah. Only the kanima wouldn’t kill the pregnant woman. You did.”

“ _Murderer._ ”

“How?” Stiles shouted. “How are all of these people murderers? Who did they kill?”

Jackson’s body began to shiver and twitch. “ _Me,”_ it said.

A frantic hand on the back of Stiles’ hoodie pulled him up and away, but he still asked. “What? What do you mean?”

“ _They murdered me._ ”

Either the ketamine was wearing off, or the kanima was getting stronger, because Jackson’s head lifted, and his eyes went slitted and yellow. Shaking violently, it shouted again, “ _They murdered me!_ ”

There were the scales, the claws, even the teeth were coming out. Stiles backed up to the wall and looked at Isaac. “More ketamine. The man needs ketamine!”

“We don’t _have_ any more!” Isaac held up the empty bottle between his fingers.

“How the fuck is he still moving if he’s got an entire bottle of ketamine in his system?”

The folding chair crashed into a side wall as Jackson’s body stood up and hissed with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. At his shoulder, Erica whimpered.

The plan was over, completely dashed to pieces. “Okay, out! Everybody out!” Stiles shouted.

He pushed Erica first toward the door, but she grabbed at his hand and yanked him through it while Isaac shoved at his back. Tumbling out of the room like dominos, the three of them slammed the door closed.

“Find something to put—” Stiles was cut off as the kanima screeched and exploded through the metal sheeted wall of the room a few feet to their left, racing on all fours into the shadows of the dark back hall.

Erica was heaving, Isaac had nearly collapsed, and neither of them had let go of Stiles. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Stiles stumbled through a game plan. “We need to get out of here. We gotta find Scott and Derek and _leave_.” He squeezed Erica’s hand and looked at Isaac. “I need you two to find Scott. I’m gonna go get Derek, but you have to find Scott and get him out of the building.” He glanced between them. “Can you do that? Erica?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll meet you outside,” Erica nodded heavily and unclamped her hand from Stiles’, reaching out to grab Isaac instead.

With one last touch on Isaac’s shoulder, Stiles pushed back through the crowd toward the door. There were a few other people leaving, and Stiles watched them wander over the ash barrier without a care. If they could just evacuate the building somehow, but there was no alarm to pull, and he could shout fire all he wanted but no one would be able to hear him over the noise.

“Stiles!”

Derek was running down the alley, his grey shirt stained a deep red. He came to a sudden stop at the ash barrier, glaring down at it.

“You’re okay!” Stiles shouted, coming down to join him on the other side, then he looked down at the barrier. “And it works? Oh my god it works! Derek, I did it!”

“We need to leave,” Derek just said.

Stiles nodded. “I know. The kanima broke out and Isaac and Erica are—”

The two Betas came through the door as if called with so much momentum that before Stiles could stop them they’d ricocheted off the barrier. Stiles stepped over it again to help them up. “Where’s Scott?”

“We couldn’t find him,” Erica said. “It’s so loud and there’s too many people.”

“We saw Allison, but Scott wasn’t anywhere near her,” Isaac added.

Another bunch of people started exiting the warehouse again, and Stiles had to jump back over to Derek to stand in front of him and cover up the extremely visible blood stains. Derek tried to push him away, but Stiles batted at him and muttered, “Blood. Derek, you’re covered in blood, remember?”

As the radically dressed teens and college age adults headed to their cars, Stiles again watched them pass over the ash like it wasn’t even there. But it was more than that. Though more than a few of them were clearly drunk and dragging their feet, none of their shoes broke the ash line. The powder didn’t move even when it was completely stepped on and someone’s foot scraped forward against the concrete.

Shit, was the barrier permanent? Deaton hadn’t said anything about it being permanent.

All at once, Erica, Isaac, and Derek all lifted their heads to stare at the building.

“Scott,” Derek said.

Stiles turned, but Scott wasn’t there or coming out the door. “What?”

“Break it,” Derek ordered.

But Stiles wasn’t sure it could actually be done anymore. “Derek, I—”

“Scott is dying!” Derek turned and pointed at the building. “Stiles, just _break_ it.”

Collapsing to his knees, Stiles stared at the ash for a second. If it couldn’t physically be broken, then surely the whole imagining thing would work again? He closed his eyes and held his hands above the ash. Picturing what he wanted in his head, he threw his hands out to the side like he was swiping it away.

Two hands pressed to his shoulder then lifted off, as if he were a springboard. Stiles opened his eyes to Derek running inside and the ash line broken neatly. Not wasting any time, he ushered Erica and Isaac over to the Camaro and opened the door.

Boyd was out cold, and the interior was absolutely ruined.

Erica shouted and covered her mouth with one hand while reaching for Boyd with the other.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Stiles reassured, “Erica, he’s gonna be fine.” Stiles reached in and trained his eyes on Boyd’s slack face while he leaned over his body to check his pulse. Alive, but still oozing blood. Derek hadn’t actually said whether werewolves could die of blood loss.

Pulling and pushing Boyd upward until his feet were in the footwell and there was room for a second wolf in the backseat, Stiles clambered out. “You guys need to get in the car. One of you has to sit with him.”

Despite her tears, Erica immediately started to get in. Isaac kept looking around, on the kind of high alert Stiles was sure wouldn’t be going down any time soon. He decided it was enough for him to just be standing next to the open door, ready to leave as soon as Derek got back.

When would Derek get back?

* * *

It was an accident. He hadn’t _meant_ to. With Scott nearly dead on the floor, wolfsbane in the air, and the Argent woman’s knife already covered in his blood and aiming for his neck, Derek had _panicked_.

He couldn’t breathe as he hoisted Scott over his shoulder and shoved through the crowd. They parted in front of him, giving him ample space to jog to the door. The tightness in his chest only got worse when the sound of the rave faded enough for him to hear Erica’s sobbing. There were three heartbeats racing outside, and one heartbeat that was far too slow.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted. He turned to Isaac and with a little push, Isaac was in the Camaro. “What happened to him?”

Too scared to care whether Stiles saw the blood on his teeth, Derek said, “Argents.”

He flinched when Stiles reached out toward his face, and couldn’t even find relief when Stiles immediately dropped his hand.

“What’d they do, make you bite your own tongue?”

Shaking his head, Derek resettled Scott on his shoulder. “He needs Deaton. I—I don’t know what they did to him.”

A repetitive buzzing near Derek’s ear made him twitch, and he shifted Scott down to the ground to pull a phone out of his pocket. The screen said _Noah_ , and it was snatched out of Derek’s hand before he could end the call.

Stiles held the phone up to his ear as the call connected. “Dad!”

Derek recoiled, grabbing at Scott and heading to the Jeep to put him in, since the Camaro was full. If Deaton was willing to help Scott, surely he’d help Boyd too? Derek had dug most of the bullets out of his own stomach, but he still had a few slugs in his back that would be hell to reach. Boyd on the other hand…

If he could have shut out the sound of Stiles talking to his father, he would have, but the rough voice of the sheriff was all too clear over the phone.

“ _You were supposed to call me, Stiles. What’s going on?_ ”

“The plan didn’t work. I mean, it blew up in our fu—”

“ _Language._ ”

“Faces. I was going to say faces. I’m gonna be home late tonight, can I explain then?” 

Stiles’ voice was getting nearer. Derek turned and watched him round the Jeep and hop in the driver’s side.

“ _We are getting you that damn phone tomorrow morning, Stiles.”_

“Got it, I gotta go.”

“ _Be safe._ ”

Stiles hung up and looked at Derek over Scott. “Little late for that, right?”

Derek blinked when he realized Stiles was talking about his dad. He knew full well that Derek was listening in and didn’t care.

“Derek? Hey, you don’t look so good. Can you drive?” Stiles asked.

It took another shake of his head for Derek to manage more words. “Bullets were laced with wolfsbane. Couldn’t get them all out. We need—”

“Yeah, Deaton. I’ll meet you there.”

Nodding, Derek backed up and closed the door, then turned and went back to the Camaro. When he opened the driver’s side door, the scent of fear and pain came rolling out in waves. It was enough to put a little more force in Derek’s movements as he swung into his seat, turned the car on and peeled out of the alley.

The sound of Erica bawling in the back seat was tearing Derek’s chest in two, Isaac was nearly catatonic, staring at the dashboard as though completely unaware that they were even moving, and Boyd was barely breathing.

Even breaking every speed limit he encountered, Stiles somehow managed to get to the clinic before him. Derek pulled up beside him at the back of the building and opened the door. He didn’t know who to help first. He didn’t even know what’d been done to Scott, but Boyd was in horrible shape.

Stiles made the choice for him, pulling Scott’s body out of the car and draping a limp arm over his shoulder. “I’ll get Scott, you and Isaac get Boyd.”

He could hear the loud bangs of Stiles knocking at the back door while he pushed his seat forward and reached for Boyd.

Isaac hadn’t moved.

“Isaac,” Derek said. When no response came, he snapped. “Isaac!”

Instantly, Isaac got out of the car and came around to Derek’s side, silently helping carry Boyd between them. Erica climbed out too, both hands over her mouth as she tried to stifle her own tears.

The door was open, so Derek just walked backward into the building, following the sound of Stiles’ frantic voice.

“I don’t know! He just came out and Scott was like this.” Stiles’ tone shifted as Derek came into view. “God, bring him here.”

There wasn’t another examination table to lay Boyd on, but Stiles was holding a few rolled up towels and kneeling on the floor in the space next to the wall. He shifted out of the way as Derek laid Boyd down, then reappeared to tuck a towel under his head.

“Derek, we have to get his shirt off.”

Obedient and silent, Derek popped a claw and began to slice the cloth on Boyd’s chest to remove it.

“Isaac, there’s a bottle of wolfsbane in my—”

“No,” Derek interrupted. He looked up at Stiles, then over at where Deaton was examining Scott. “Different kind of bullet.”

Stiles’ face went even more pale, if it was possible. “What? I don’t—we don’t have a bullet to fix this, Derek!”

Derek shook his head. “Don’t need it. We just need to get them out. He’ll heal on his own.”

“Derek, tell me what happened to Scott,” Deaton said.

Torn, Derek stared down at Boyd. An elbow bumped his arm.

“Go, I got him,” Stiles said. “Derek, please, help Scott.”

As Derek stood, Deaton pressed a stethoscope to Scott’s chest over his lungs and said, tone as even and calm as if this were just another day of work for him. “Stiles, forceps are in the drawer next to the wall.”

Derek explained the wolfsbane in the air and how long Scott had been missing. Then, at Deaton’s request, he tried to describe the taste and scent of the wolfsbane. The whole time, Stiles never stopped _talking_.

“Isaac, can you do that pain drain thing? There, perfect, thank you. Okay, Catwoman, I need your help. You can help me, right? You’ve got your claws and I’ve got my forceps and we’re gonna hold each other’s hair when we puke after this. Actually, you can hold my hoodie. Help me get them out, and don’t touch them any longer than you have to.”

Whatever Deaton gleaned from the information Derek gave him was enough for him to leave and come back with a small nebulizer that he put in Scott’s mouth.

There was nothing left for Derek to do. Even if his hands stopped shaking enough to help get the bullets out of Boyd, there wasn’t enough room next to him. He was fucking useless and there were two _humans_ taking care of his Betas instead of him.

Stiles didn’t even look up. “Derek, sit down. Deaton, whatever Scott got, Derek got too. He looks like he’s gonna pass out.”

Derek shook his head. “I’m fine. Don’t tell me—” he growled as his vision tunneled, then went over to the chair in the corner and dropped into it. He’d never gotten those bullets in his back out, or the rest from his front, and the wound from the butcher knife that’d been buried next to his spine was nowhere near healing. It was cold in the clinic, so Derek crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and held onto his biceps, covering up a bullet wound and holding himself still.

Fighting to stay conscious took enough effort that he wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Erica whispered, “He’s healing.”

“And Scott’s breathing just fine now,” Deaton said. “He should wake up anytime.”

A shadow came up over Derek, blocking out the migraine inducing fluorescent light. “Derek.”

Derek growled.

“Dude, we have to get the bullets out of you too. Let me help.”

He could smell the hand reaching out, and Derek wanted it _gone._ Eyes closed and still growling, he snapped his teeth in the direction of the human scent. It backed off, but another voice spoke up.

“Derek!” Deaton shouted, voice like steel.

He opened his eyes to Deaton frowning fiercely at him, and Stiles holding a hand out to keep him away from Derek. “No, he’s good. It’s good, Deaton, leave him alone. Derek, are you gonna let me get the bullets out, or not?”

Growling was simpler than trying to talk.

Stiles bit his lip, then looked over at where Boyd lay with Erica and Isaac at his side. “Will you let Isaac do it?”

That…didn’t make Derek’s skin crawl. Slowly, he nodded.

Isaac stood up and came over, looking marginally better than he had in the car. At least he seemed to know Derek was actually there.

“I’m gonna talk you through it, Isaac. Okay? It’s really simple and really gross.”

The pain of the bullets leaving his body was almost as bad as it’d been going in, but Derek could feel the difference as the holes in his arms sealed shut. At Stiles’ request, since Isaac still wasn’t talking, he ripped off the crusting mess that used to be his shirt and turned around on the chair to let Isaac get at his back.

By the end of it, Derek had left finger imprints in the metal rim on the back of the chair, but he didn’t feel like passing out anymore. He turned around to see Stiles standing next to Isaac, his cupped hands holding the half dozen slugs that’d come out of Derek’s body.

Stiles looked down at the bullets, then over at Scott, still unconscious, then down at Boyd, also unconscious, but with Erica draped over him. Derek could hear his distinct and forced swallow.

Then, “Erica?”

Erica lifted her head, the redness from her tears gone, but her makeup still streaked to hell.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay, well I…” his voice wavered and cut out. Another heavy swallow. “Am not.”

As calm as he’d been the entire time, Stiles dropped the slugs into the pile that they’d made on the counter already, then cleaned his hands off with a sanitizer wipe. Walking over to Erica and clearly ignoring the fact that everyone conscious in the room was staring at him, Stiles took off his hoodie, a sweatshirt-jacket combination monstrosity, and handed it to Erica.

He left the room, and his steps walked a little ways away before another door closed. This time Derek was able to tune it out. 

For his Betas’ sake, he spoke. “We need to get back to—” he paused, glancing at Deaton. “Back to my place.”

“Do we need to go now, or can we wait until Boyd wakes up?” Erica asked. There was none of her usual sass or snark, just a quiet question.

“Now, Erica.”

Erica looked down and played with the jacket in her hands. “Okay. Is Stiles coming?”

“No.”

Slowly, Erica nodded. 

She didn’t ask for an explanation, but Derek felt like he needed to give one, if not for his Betas, then at least to appease his own instincts. “I need him to take Scott home, and his dad is expecting him.”

Another nod. If this was what it was like when Derek’s Betas obeyed his every order without question, he didn’t want it anymore.

Stiles returned to the room while Derek was picking Boyd up, strong enough now to do it without Isaac’s help. The surprising amount of composure Stiles’d shown since leaving the rave was still there, but Derek could see it cracking in the way his fingers trembled and the still deathly white pallor of his face. He smelled like bitter, burned salt. Acrid horror. There was a small twinge of guilt in Derek’s stomach that he wouldn’t be there when Stiles finally broke. He doubted he could help, but it still felt wrong not to be there for pack. Stiles _was_ pack. At least…as much as a human could be.

After taking back his jacket and gently headbutting an unresponsive Isaac, Stiles went over to stand with Scott, who was only just waking up.

The beginning of their conversation was audible as Derek carried Boyd down the hall and Erica opened up the back door.

“ _Stiles? What happened?_ ”

“ _Derek saved your life, that’s what happened. Again. You’re gonna have to start paying him or something._ ”

Derek got Boyd settled in the backseat on top of a towel, with Erica at his side, then got in the front and sat for a second. Before he could change his mind, he pulled out his phone and opened up a new text to Scott’s phone, knowing Stiles would be the one to check it.

_Thank you._

At his side, Isaac finally spoke. “Derek?”

Silent tears streamed down Isaac’s face.

“That _sucked._ ”

* * *

Scott recovered quickly, once he actually woke up. It made it that much easier for Stiles to stop outside his house and let Scott climb up through the bedroom window to pretend that he’d just spent a night in his room, doing homework and going to bed early. It sounded like a much better way to spend the time than what’d _actually_ happened.

Like a sick reversal of their meeting that afternoon, Stiles padded into the house, dropped off his keys, threw his jacket on the chair, and walked into the living room to see his dad standing there waiting for him.

It wasn’t fair, the way just seeing his dad’s worried face made Stiles absolutely crumble. He’d been doing so well. It was so much easier to stay calm and strong while everyone around him was losing their minds. Someone had to pick up the slack, and Stiles was good at it. As soon as he had another option though, he fell apart.

He walked into a hug and let his dad settle him down on the couch. With a couple kicks, his shoes were on the floor and he’d curled up against his dad’s side. There were bloodstains on his shirt and jeans from moving Boyd around and kneeling next to him on the seats. He wasn’t sure whether they would come out in the wash.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I should tell you,” his dad said above his head. “The kanima killed its target, and she wasn’t on the list.”

Stiles shook, his shoulders jumping and his fingers flexing and contracting in the fabric of his dad’s shirt. “I didn’t know it could go that wrong. I didn’t know they would _do_ that.”

“They? Who’s they? The kanima and its master?”

He rubbed his forehead back and forth against the soft cotton. “No. The Argents. The plan just…it just…it _didn’t_. The sedative didn’t do anything, and we didn’t find the master, and the Argents showed up. They plugged Derek and Boyd full of holes, and…they almost killed Scott.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “Now.”

He didn’t want to talk anymore, just be still and let his heart slow down. After a moment, his dad began to rock slightly.

“It’s okay, Mischief. They’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> Was never a fan of the whole "Isaac beats the shit out of two students and steals their tickets, but no one seems to care" thing. And Derek's rich, so...I changed it.  
> I never understood why Stiles got mad at Isaac for using the whole bottle of ketamine on Jackson. Like...if he hadn't the Kanima would've come out even earlier?? It's the same amount of ketamine! If it's still moving with a whole bottle of ketamine in its body, then having more wouldn't do shit!  
> And then there's that end scene....where Derek is watching over Scott at Deaton's....like what? Excuse me? Boyd literally says on screen that he's been _shot_ so many times he's stopped healing. Where is he? Wtf?


	9. Spring Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! So, first thing's first. I'm so sorry! I totally forgot to warn you guys last week that I would be posting this chapter a day late. I spent all of yesterday moving and the days before it packing. I didn't mean to leave you hanging!  
> Second, you'll notice this chapter isn't labelled with an episode number. That's because I sort of wedged this in. In the show we hear about "spring break" but the timing is all kinds of fucked up. So I fixed it, and wrote a whole chapter to explain how their week of spring break went (Basically, just Stiles hanging out with people). Which means the total chapter number of 13 is finally explained. <3  
> Please enjoy!

**Spring Break**

Breakfast with Stiles’ dad was rare and sacred. It involved pancakes or waffles and—sugar free, obviously—maple syrup, with mutually agreed upon silence until coffee was had. It also didn’t occur until at least ten in the morning. Since his dad didn’t have anywhere to be for once and Stiles was the one at fault for it, he pulled out the low sugar syrup instead.

They talked over what kind of phone Stiles would be getting for the first half of the meal. His begging for the newest model was 110% a joke, but it was fun to pretend his heart didn’t hurt and that he wasn’t constantly reaching out for people that weren’t there for a little while. Then, just as he was fake-haggling his dad into the fourth newest model, the phone rang.

Normally, when his dad came back in the room with that look on his face it meant he had to head out to a scene. This time, he sat back down and spoke gently.

“Stiles, you said everyone was okay last night, yeah?”

Suddenly the maple syrup in his mouth felt like it was choking him. Stiles reached for his coffee and took a gulp. “Once we—uh, cleaned everyone up, yeah. Derek went home with the Betas.”

He hadn’t told his dad any details about what it’d taken to _get_ Boyd and Derek cleaned up. It wasn’t lying, not really. Stiles just didn’t want to think about it, or see any more of that pain in his dad’s eyes. He didn’t need to know that his only son had spent over an hour slowly digging bullets out of partially healed flesh.

Once the bitterness of the coffee had settled his stomach, Stiles squinted at his dad and tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because Erica and Boyd didn’t go home last night.”

Stiles nearly dropped his mug. “What? At all?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but don’t worry. They’re werewolves, I’m sure they’re fine. But what are the odds they’re with Derek?” Noah picked up his fork and took another bite of his food, the ultimate declaration of not worrying.

“It’s pretty much guaranteed.”

His dad sighed. “Stiles, you keep telling me Derek is a good guy, but all I’m seeing are two counts of kidnapping.”

Stiles put down his mug and grabbed the sides of the table. “What? He didn’t _kidnap_ them! They probably just stayed the night at—” he bit off his words and tried again. “At his place. We were exhausted after what happened with Erica. It was probably the same with Boyd.”

“I can’t tell their parents that they stayed the night at their Alpha’s place, Stiles,” his dad groaned. “He’s a twenty-two-year-old and Erica and Boyd are minors.”

When Stiles went to argue again, he put up a hand. “Just—tell Derek to send them home. Okay?”

“I’d love to, but I don’t have a phone yet,” Stiles pointed out.

His dad shrugged. “I could always drive you over there to tell him in person.”

Stiles laughed loudly and fakely. “You’re real funny, Yoda. It’s not gonna happen!”

“Stiles—”

“Nope. No. No _way_. I already told you all about werewolves and about Derek and the pack, all without asking him. Do you know how fu—screwed up that is? This is the secret of his entire _species_ and I just gave it out. To you. Because I love and respect you. But I’m not telling you where he lives unless he gives me permission. Just, no.”

With another bite of pancake stuffed into his cheek, Noah waved his fork. “I could just call in a favor and have someone tail you. Hell, I could tail you myself.”

That, Stiles laughed at for real, much more gently, as he grabbed his own fork again. “You never would.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” his dad sighed. “This is what I get for having a son who respects people.”

Stiles snorted. “I don’t respect anyone but family and Lydia.”

Noah raised a brow. “So which one are they?”

“Dad, gross. Neither. They’re pack. It’s a whole different, way more supernatural, ballpark.”

God bless the wonder that is technology. As soon as Stiles’d hooked up his new phone in the store, all of his contacts were pulled from his backup and he was _connected_ again. Immediately, he sent texts to everyone who needed to know that he was on the grid again. Namely, Scott, Allison, and Derek, with the assumption that Derek would mention it to the pack.

As he wandered through the mall with his dad, the sweet, sweet buzz of his phone gave him something to do in between dragging his dad away from outrageously expensive books and making his dad drag him away from outrageously expensive videogames.

**Lost Boyd: Hey, thank you.**

**__** _Dude, if that isn’t wht pack is 4, then I hve no clue wht the hell the point is._

**Wendy Darling: Would you shut up and take the gratitude?**

Stiles snorted and changed Erica’s contact name to something more appropriate for her badassery.

_So the 2 of u R at Derek’s. Guys, u need 2 go home. My dad got a call abt u being missing._

**Peter Pan: They can’t, Stiles.**

**__** _Why not? Is everyone okay?_

**Catwoman: Sorry, Batman**

**Peter Pan: They’re fine. You can come see them.**

_That doesn’t answer my question, Derek._

**Peter Pan: I’ll tell you when you come.**

“Stiles, what’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

Stiles looked up. He’d stopped in the middle of the hall and his dad was standing in front of him. His first instinct was to wave it off, but instead he stepped over to the nearest wall and lowered his voice. “They’re with Derek, but he says they can’t go home.”

The immediate tightening of his dad’s face was something Stiles could only hope he would eventually stop seeing. “Stiles, they _have_ to go home.”

“I know,” he said, looking down at his phone. “I, uh, I think I need to go see them.”

“You need to, or you want to?”

“Both.”

Stiles had thought that once he was able to text Boyd and Erica again, he’d stop feeling so lost. But it was just like Erica had said, something was missing and Stiles’ head was going to burst trying to find it. “Dad, I’m _itchy_ , like everywhere. I keep looking around for them and they aren’t here and I think I might actually go nuts. I _told_ you this wasn’t just a club I joined. It’s an actual, _physical_ thing. Now, please, can I see them?”

His dad put his hands on his hips and looked around the hallway they were in, then up at the ceiling, before sighing. “I’ll drop you off.” He raised a hand before Stiles could interrupt. “At home. I’ll drop you off at home, so you can get your Jeep. But Stiles, I expect an explanation. You have a phone now. No more disappearing for hours on end so you can hang out with them.”

For a second, Stiles froze, trying to figure out when he’d ever done that. Then, he spluttered, “I was _asleep_! We weren’t braiding each other’s hair!”

“You want the ride, or not?”

When Stiles was ambushed for the second time on the middle platform of the stairs in the depot, he expected the blur that hit him to be blonde. Erica had mostly established that her preferred form of hug was a surprise tackle. But the arms squeezing around his shoulders were much beefier, and the back he was patting was much wider.

“Uh, Boyd? Not that I don’t think it’s really awesome when men get in touch with their emotions and tactile sides and all, but it’s slowly getting harder to breathe,” Stiles mumbled into the t-shirt currently choking him. Right, no more leather jacket.

Huffing, Boyd mostly disentangled himself and led Stiles down the next set of stairs with a hand on his shoulder. Then, he held Stiles in place to be attacked on both sides by Isaac and Erica.

Isaac’s contribution to the conversation was a simple, “Fucking _finally_.”

At least the way they were hugging him meant that his head peeked out over their shoulders. He could see Derek watching them from the doorway of the train car. If Stiles didn’t know better, he looked _content_.

The hug didn’t end after a few seconds, so Stiles frowned at Derek. “Uh, what did I do?”

Derek shrugged. “You weren’t here.”

Stiles’ stomach sank. “Oh, right. Shit, I’m sorry Boyd.”

“It’s fine,” Boyd answered quickly from behind. “You’re here now.” There was a cough. “Wow, that sounded fucking weird.”

Wiggling away from Erica and Isaac, Stiles turned around to face Boyd. “I swear to god, if you ‘no homo’ me, I’m never hugging you again.” Gesturing graciously, he declared, “I have decided that pack gets a pass on the tactile crap. Seeing as you literally can’t help it.”

The challenging look in Boyd’s eye was slightly terrifying until he walked up and grabbed Stiles’ head, planting a kiss above his brow. “Dude,” he laughed brightly, “no homo, full bi.”

Stiles spluttered a little as Boyd backed up. “You—dude—for real? Fuck yes. Solidarity, my man. You’re officially my favorite.”

He held out a hand for a high five that made his wrist hurt. It was worth it.

As the general energy Stiles could feel rolling off Erica, Isaac, and Boyd began to settle, he looked around at them and abruptly smacked himself in the temple.

“Wait, stop joking around with me! I’m trying to be _worried_ here. Why the hell aren’t you two at home?”

The entire lot of them grimaced and turned to Derek. Stiles followed suit to see Derek already crossing his arms. Every time he did that they got in an argument. Fuck.

“They can’t go home, Stiles,” Derek said. Then, he stopped and didn’t offer even a hint of explanation.

Already, Stiles’ blood pressure was rising. “For the love of—” he looked around. “Is there nowhere remotely comfortable to sit?”

Shaking her head, Erica just dropped to sit on the floor and pulled Stiles down with her. “Chill, Stiles.”

“No, no, I will not chill!” Stiles tried valiantly to look intimidating, but it was hard while sitting cross-legged and having Erica spin around to drop her head in his lap. Blowing a hard breath out his nose, Stiles frowned at Derek and spoke through his teeth. “Derek, _why_ can’t they go home?”

Miraculously, Derek uncrossed his arms and leaned back against a support beam. “Before now, I’d hoped the Argents would leave Erica and Boyd out of it. They’re _supposed_ to have a code. Gerard wants me dead, but he didn’t go after them even though they were going to school. After last night, there’s no chance in hell he’s gonna let them live.”

“But we’re not even in school anymore. It’s spring break, they’re going to be at home!”

“And their addresses are on file with the office where Gerard and Victoria Argent work.” Derek straightened up and looked down at Stiles. “Do you really think the fact that they’re at home with their parents is going to make a difference?”

Stiles flinched. “Derek, you were already a fugitive once. This is _kidnapping_.”

“No, it’s not, we’re choosing to stay here,” Boyd argued.

Turning to him, Stiles let his dad’s words fall out of his mouth. “Derek is twenty-two, and you and Erica are _minors_. It doesn’t matter if you agreed to it.” To Derek, he pleaded, “If the cops find out you’ve been keeping them here that’s two counts of kidnapping. There won’t be Argents to blame and they will send you to jail.”

Growling lowly, Derek stepped forward and put one knee on the ground. Erica’s head immediately disappeared from Stiles’ leg as he leaned in. “And how, exactly, would they find out?”

Stiles wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He was just royally pissed at being intimidated and threatened every time he tried to talk some sense into his stupid Alpha. His heart raced, but he kept himself from panting by clamping his mouth closed and breathing through his nose for a moment. “My dad won’t turn you in. Not once he knows _why_. Now, back the fuck _off_.”

Derek didn’t move away, meeting Stiles’ glare head on.

“Derek?” Boyd said. “We’re staying here. We already told you we want to stay. But, we do kind of need things?”

The time it took for Derek to back up and look at Boyd felt like forever, but once the eye contact was broken, Stiles looked at Boyd too.

“Like what?” Derek asked.

He plucked at the shirt he was wearing. “Like clothes?”

Finally, what Boyd and Erica were wearing actually registered, and Stiles clambered to his feet. “Are you wearing Derek’s shirt?” he asked Boyd. Then he blinked at Erica. “Wait, isn’t that _mine_?”

The red plaid looked a little different actually buttoned up on Erica, but it was still his.

“Isaac, I told you to throw that away when you got home. It was soaked in blood, why did you keep it?”

There went Isaac’s chest, puffing up like he was trying to mimic Derek. “Does it matter?”

Stiles just made a face. “What? No, it’s just—”

“We can’t go back to your places to pick anything up,” Derek interrupted. “If they’ve got people watching the houses they’ll either attack outright or follow us back.”

Boyd frowned. “Okay, but you can’t exactly go buy us stuff. If we have to stay in hiding, so do you.”

“Not that I’d trust you to buy my clothes anyway,” Erica added.

There was silent standoff in the middle of the room with everyone looking at each other and realizing they were slightly fucked. Any one of them was at risk going out into the open if Gerard had declared open season on teenagers and Alphas alike. Hell, even Scott couldn’t do it, now that Chris’d apparently gone back on that end of the deal.

Slowly, aware that both Derek and Isaac were vaguely furious with him, Stiles raised his hand and waved it a little until he had everyone’s attention. “Uh, hi. I could pick some stuff up? Probably not at your guys’ places, since that would be breaking and entering, and also stealing. But, I could go to the mall?”

Almost immediately, Boyd nodded and started to smile, but Erica tutted. “No offence, Stiles, but I’m not letting you pick my clothes out either.”

Stiles shuddered. “No, obviously. I—” he snapped his fingers as the answer came to him. “I’m supposed to go talk to Lydia. If you just text me sizes and colors, I can bring her with and she’ll vet everything. That work?”

Erica tipped her head to the side. “Sure, works for me.”

“Boyd? You’re getting t-shirts and jeans, I hope you realize, but like, text me color preferences or you’re getting nothing but navy blue.”

“Why navy blue?” Boyd asked.

“It’s my default color. That or red.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll text you.”

Stiles froze. “Wait, no, don’t. If you guys are seriously gonna hide out here, you have to get rid of your phones.” He gestured down at the cell in Erica’s hand. “Those can be tracked, and they might pull your texts. You’ll have to wipe them, remove the SIM card, and dump them, the works. And do it soon, cus’ anything you delete is only gonna stay in the server for a couple days, so by the time they get around to checking for it, it needs to be gone.”

“Why do you know that?” Boyd asked.

“What, you never looked up what you’d need to do to disappear in case you had to go on the run or something?”

Derek’s brows twitched upward, and Erica squinted at him. “ _No_ , we haven’t.” Her face split into a grin and she dove in for a hug. “You’re so weird.”

If Stiles was going to get Lydia to help him with clothes shopping, he owed her a few _hours_ worth of explanations. That meant going tonight probably wasn’t gonna be an option. Thank god for school breaks. “I’m not gonna be able to get anywhere till tomorrow, but Erica, Boyd—fuck it, everybody just send me lists of whatever you need and I’ll pick up what I can.”

As he backed up to the stairs, Erica whined, “You’re not staying?”

Stiles shrugged. “I need to check on Scott, and I know this sounds nuts, but I actually have things to do. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He looked at Derek to see how much the suggestion had pissed him off. “Yes? Yes. Tomorrow. Deal with your phones!”

A few steps up, Stiles heard another set of feet on the stairs and paused. When the person behind him growled, he started up again, huffing the most colorful swears he could think of under his breath as he stomped toward ground level.

Derek didn’t follow him very far away from the door, giving Stiles plenty of space to spin around on the concrete and throw his hands up. “Would you _stop_ with the growling already?”

“I will if they do,” Derek sniped.

Reeling a little at the juvenile remark, Stiles blinked. “You were growling at them? Why?”

Crossing his arms, Derek glared daggers, but at least his eyes were hazel instead of red. “Every time I go near you they freak out like I’m going to snap you in half.”

Stiles made a face. “I mean…you have kind of indirectly threatened to do that. A lot.”

“How am I supposed to have you in the pack if they won’t let me around you? They’re supposed to protect you, but not from _me_.”

A smile forced its way onto Stiles’ face, and his entire body _thrummed_ , but he didn’t dare ask the question burning his tongue. He didn’t need to anyway.

He’d been operating under the hope that since Scott was part of the pack now, and Derek had kicked him out for being around Scott, then he was at least _kind of_ pack again. But it was just an assumption before now. _That_ was verbal confirmation and Stiles would fucking take it. Speaking of pack…

“Does Scott know?” Stiles asked. “About you keeping Erica and Boyd in hiding? Does _he_ need to go into hiding?”

For some reason, that only made Derek even more tense.

“What?” Stiles was too worried to even be defensive. “Derek, what happened? I thought this was working. You guys were doing so _well_.”

“Why are you gunning so hard for this?” Derek snapped. “If you think you need to solidify your standing as pack—”

Stiles groaned, knitting his hands together at the back of his head, dragging it up over his hair. “No, would you guys stop putting words in my mouth? Is it too much to ask that my Alpha and my best friend get along? That they help each other out so we can stop all the stupid infighting?” He took a deep breath and blew it out toward the sky. “So, what happened, and how can I fix it? Did he say something stupid again?”

“It’s—” Derek grimaced, “It’s nothing. You don’t have to fix anything. I’ll tell Scott, but he should be safe. Allison’s still protecting him from her dad, as far as I can tell.”

“Then what the hell happened last night?”

“That…was Allison’s mother.”

Stiles gaped for a second. Allison’s mom hadn’t even been a player until now. Even though Allison had told him the Argents were supposed to be matriarchal, he hadn’t seen her mom even remotely interact with what was going on except for coming to work at the school.

He was still processing the new information when Derek pulled out his wallet and handed over a debit card with his name on it. “For their clothes and whatever else they make you pick up. I’ll text you the pin.”

Taking the card felt like taking some kind of peace offering. They were both just trying to keep the others safe. “Do you want me to grab some books for Isaac? Ones he can actually _own_?”

Derek glanced back at the door. “He prefers the scent of yours.”

“The scent? Is that why he kept my shirt?”

“Wolves already have heightened senses, but some favor one over the others. Isaac focuses on scent most of the time.” Before Stiles could ask, Derek added, “Boyd has hearing and Erica doesn’t have a favorite.”

Nodding absently, Stiles only barely stopped himself from reflexively tapping Derek’s card on his teeth while he tried to put his thoughts in order. He shoved it into his own wallet and patted a hand on his thigh. “Okay, well I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess. Text me if you need anything.”

“Stiles.”

Bracing himself, Stiles said. “What?”

“Be careful what you tell Lydia.”

There was enough of a pause for Stiles to pull in air for arguing, then Derek added, “Don’t tell her anything that the Argents would want to get out of her. It’s safer if she doesn’t know where we are.”

Stiles deflated. “Yeah, okay. Hey, listen, I’m not—I’m not gonna tell him unless you say it’s cool, but my dad wants to know where you’ve been hiding out. I think it just makes him nervous that he can’t get to you if I go missing or something.”

Either Stiles was getting better at reading Derek’s microexpressions, or Derek was really just that freaked out, but the panic on his face was painfully obvious.

“No.”

Rather than start another fight, Stiles just gave in. “Got it, Derek. I won’t tell him.”

* * *

Now that Scott knew where Derek was, he was apparently happy to just show up. The point of the text Derek sent was to let him know what was going on, not invite him over to argue about it. Just having Scott in the room was making him nauseous.

The difference between his arrival and Stiles’ earlier appearance was obvious before he even got all the way in the door. Derek could hear the jingle of his bike gears, and his hand on the door handle, but the door to the depot was thick metal, and the walls concrete blocks. He didn’t blame Erica, Isaac, and Boyd for not responding until it actually opened. When they did, it wasn’t with giddy teen excitement or pack-bond-deprivation hugs. Isaac rolled his eyes, Erica grimaced, and Boyd stopped talking in the middle of his sentence.

They were looking at him with matching faces of discomfort and solidarity. He knew they would stay while he dealt with Scott, but it wasn’t something he wanted to put them through. There was never an apology for, or even acknowledgement of, Scott’s verbal and physical attacks when they’d been bitten, and Scott being pack wasn’t going to change that.

But that was the thing. Scott _wasn’t_ pack. It was why Derek tipped his head toward Isaac’s room so the Betas would leave, and why he had to fight not to just escape himself.

He’d been willing to be patient while the bond formed. Scott just needed to trust him. He just needed to prove that he would be a decent Alpha and protect not just Scott, but Scott’s friends. Somehow, even after literally dragging Scott away from his death, after _biting_ an Argent for him, there was nothing there.

What did Derek have to do?

“What does this text even mean?” Scott cried, holding out his phone. He didn’t so much as glance at the click of Isaac’s door closing.

**Derek: You need to lay low. The others are staying with me.**

It felt pretty self-explanatory, but Derek elaborated anyway. “The kanima is officially not our biggest problem right now. You need to stay away from the Argents, and I’m keeping Erica and Boyd here with Isaac until we finish this.”

Scott moved his hands to gesture almost as wildly as Stiles. “What are you saying, we’re just supposed to let the kanima run around killing more people?”

What was it about this kid that made Derek want to run in the opposite direction? Derek turned and walked into the train car. “I’m saying we need a new plan, because next time, we might not make it to your vet in time. Boyd was too hurt to heal, and you were practically comatose. The Argents pose more of a threat to us.”

Following, Scott stayed standing, leaning against a pole while Derek stretched back in a seat. “I get it, we can’t save Jackson.”

Derek squinted at him. That wasn’t what he’d said at all. This was about the Argents. The kanima hadn’t been the one to nearly kill Derek’s Beta.

But, he wasn’t wrong about Jackson. “Isaac said the ketamine barely put him down for a few minutes, and even then he couldn’t get very close. I’m pretty sure Deaton’s idea about whatever affects the kanima also affecting its master was wrong. What affects _Jackson_ doesn’t even affect the kanima. It’s like they’re separate entities. I’ve seen a lot of things, Scott, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

He’d grown up aware of the other kinds of shifters and supernatural beings that existed. His mom was only ever interested in other werewolves, but Peter was always slipping Derek books and stories when he got Derek alone. He knew about legends of the fae and spirits, good and bad. He was almost positive Peter had been the one to tell him what a kanima was in the first place, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention at sixteen to recognize it sooner, and Peter was dead. So, here they were.

Watching his stories come to life was far more terrifying than he’d imagined it would be.

“So, if we can’t save him, and we can’t kill him, how do we stop him?” Scott asked.

At this point, Derek was out of ideas. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if we _can_.”

Every plan had backfired so spectacularly. The venom test with Jackson, then with Lydia. Putting his hand through Jackson’s stomach had barely slowed him down. Even doing things Scott’s way had fallen apart in front of them.

Scott tapped his fingers on the pole. “So, why can’t we just let the Argents handle it?”

“Because!” Derek shouted. “I bit him! This is my fault! I turned Jackson into a monster and I’ll be damned if I let more monsters be the ones to put him down. If he dies, he should at least die with some mercy.”

“But the book said something in his past was causing this, if we can just figure out what it was—”

“That’s a legend in a book. It’s not that simple.” Derek buried his head in his hands.

It was never that simple. Books and bestiaries were full of guesswork and convenient lies that gave the readers a sense of closure or new hunters a reason to commit murder. The monster had a secret curse on him all along, and when the woman came out to the woods and called his given name three times, it cured him, and he could go home. Werewolves came about because someone drank some water from a wolf paw print on a full moon with revenge in their heart. The myth that killing the Alpha that bit you would turn you human again came from one of those books. It was all bullshit that sounded prettier than the truth. No one wanted to admit that werewolves were a _species_. They couldn’t _be_ cured, because they weren’t a disease or a curse. Even within the supernatural community the legends were prevalent.

His mother had abhorred those ideas. She was raised, and she raised Derek and his siblings, to believe that they were chosen by the moon herself. That was why she could fullshift, and her father before her. Not only did werewolves in general have favor with the moon, but the Hale family was especially blessed.

But Laura had never fully shifted after the fire, and Peter had turned into an absolute monstrosity from humanity’s worst nightmares. If anyone was cursed, it was Derek, and he was spreading it to everyone around him, forced to watch them suffer and die while he stood at the epicenter of the chaos like Patient Zero.

He ground his palms into his eyes, watching lights burst beneath his eyelids as he muttered, “Go home, Scott. Sleep. Heal.” He lifted his head to make pointed eye contact. “Make sure your friends are safe. The full moon is coming, and with the way things are going, I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a rough one.”

Sighing, Scott turned around and walked to the doorway. There, he stopped. “Being part of your pack means no more secrets, right?”

“Go home.”

More nausea swirled in Derek’s gut as Scott left the depot. Scott kept talking about pack, about working together. So where was the pack bond?

* * *

As Stiles sat in Lydia Martin’s bedroom, on her bed, with the door shut and blinds drawn, he felt like he’d entered the Twilight Zone. Freshman Stiles would have had a heart attack had he known this was in his future. Hell, Stiles from less than a month ago would’ve been equal parts ecstatic and hopelessly aroused.

Stiles now pulled his phone out of his pocket and double checked the massive shopping list that he’d compiled from the texts Boyd, Isaac and Erica had sent from Isaac’s phone. Derek, unsurprisingly, hadn’t asked for anything. At least not for himself. He told Stiles to pick up some kind of coffee concoction that sounded like 90% sugar just from the name, for Isaac. For Erica and Boyd, he’d requested “something shiny” and a new genuine leather jacket, respectively.

“Stiles, are you listening?”

Lydia was on her laptop, typing away even though Stiles hadn’t said anything for at least ten minutes.

There was a certain freedom in not trying to get in Lydia’s skirts anymore. One that let Stiles lean back against her headboard and blow a slow raspberry at his phone. “I’m trying to figure out a contact name for you. These are _important_ and right now you’re just in as Lyds. It’s an affront to my entire system.”

“Seriously?” Lydia judged him from over the top of her screen. “You’re more worried about my name in your phone than answering questions about the supernatural beings roaming Beacon Hills?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been answering your questions for two hours now, Lydia. If you don’t let me come up with something good, I’m just gonna put you in as ‘Scream Girl.’”

Lydia’s head jerked up. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, did I not mention that every time you scream, every werewolf in town can hear it? I’m amazed you haven’t broken glass yet.” Suddenly, Stiles froze. “That’s it!” Typing quickly, he saved Lydia’s contact and turned off his screen. “Okay, text me something.”

“If I do, can we go back to work?”

“Maybe.”

Sighing, Lydia snatched up her phone and tapped at it before tossing it back to the comforter.

**Black Canary: You’re an idiot.**

“Perfect!” Stiles crowed. “I’m slowly collecting every DC superhero in town.”

Lydia squinted at him. “I’m assuming Derek is Batman?”

Stiles choked on air and scrambled up to his knees on the mattress. “What? No, _I’m_ Batman. The human who has the gadgets and the smarts and the old man always giving me sass. If anyone, Derek is Superman, and that’s just because of the impervious thing. And that whole ‘smile that gives me sunburn, it’s so bright’ thing, but it doesn’t happen nearly enough to count.”

“Derek smiles? From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound like the smiling type.”

He held up a finger. “I've only ever seen him do it when he was lying to people, except like this _one_ time after he bit Erica. Besides, he loses points for using it on Tara. That was just creepy and wrong.”

“Break time is over,” Lydia declared. “Back to work.”

The only possible response was to flop to the side on the bed and hang his head over the edge near Lydia’s feet. He spoke to the pink flowers on her socks. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but can we go shopping yet?”

—

It was like a late Christmas, showing up at Derek’s with bags full of clothing and snacks and magazines and everything else on the list. As Erica snatched the ones with her clothes and disappeared into Isaac’s room to change, Stiles handed Derek the bag he’d stashed Derek’s various gifts in, so he could give them out later.

“Thank you,” Derek said.

Stiles laughed a little awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s your bank account taking the hit.”

“So, Stiles,” Boyd said, voice heavy with a meaning Stiles couldn’t deduce, “Do you have to head out again, or can you stay for a while?”

Like he had the day before, Stiles turned to Derek for a reaction. His face was blank, but that was better than him actively glowering at the concept of Stiles hanging around, so Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and smiled a little more comfortably. “I mean, I’ve got nothing better to do. How are you planning on keeping yourselves busy down here?”

“Training,” Derek answered.

Thoughts of lacrosse drills and suicide runs sent a phantom ache to Stiles’ muscles. “Great.”

* * *

“Once you find your anchors, it’ll be easier for you to avoid sensory overload in crowded places. Until then you’ll just have to practice.” Derek scanned his small audience, pinning Erica and Isaac with looks until they sat up from their sprawls across the crates they’d picked as chairs. Boyd was a little more attentive, even if that meant sitting on the ground with one knee pulled up and absently picking splinters from Erica’s crate. “There is no reason why you shouldn’t be able to pick out the voice of someone you know in a crowd, whether it’s in the cafeteria, or at a rave.” Derek softened a little at the guilty wince on Erica’ face. “It’s not easy, but you can do it.”

He held up two phones. One was set to a music player, the other to a white noise app meant to simulate human voices. He turned the volumes on each as high as they would go, but didn’t press play yet. “Since we can’t exactly go in public, I’ll do my best to simulate it. I’m going to turn these on, then go to the back of the building. When I get there I’ll start talking, and you each have to repeat what I tell you.”

From his spot a few feet away, Stiles perked up. “Nice. Anything I can do to help?”

Derek paused, then sighed. “Actually, yes. Distract them.”

Ignoring the way Stiles’ face lit up like a little kid, he turned on both apps and walked away from the immediate racket, back behind the train car and toward a far corner. Halfway there, he heard another sound join in with the first two, some sort of lecture on Genghis Khan. Admittedly, it was a decent addition, having another real voice to add to the chaos.

“ _What is that?_ ” Erica asked.

“ _It’s a recorded lecture from Cambridge. I have a few downloaded on my phone for when I get bored. You’re not supposed to pay attention to it. Listen for Derek. You should also not pay attention to me telling you how Derek hit on my old babysitter to get Isaac out of jail.”_

Derek scowled. The help distracting the Betas was useful, but that didn’t mean he had to like Stiles’ content choice.

He had a few phrases ready to say, and to no one’s surprise, Boyd was the first to understand one. After him was Erica, then Isaac.

More than once, he could hear them getting properly distracted by the various things Stiles rambled about. People from school or shows he’d seen. But they always popped back to attention after a while, picking up Derek’s voice easier and easier as time went on.

Eventually, he tried to switch it up, letting each of them trade places with him and come up with their own things to say. Their choices were a little less generic, and Isaac burst out laughing at Erica’s quiet rendition of “Hollaback Girl.”

It was the easiest training session they’d had, and Derek was proud of them. So, of course, he had to ruin their good moods as soon as it was over. Once he’d turned off the phones and passed Isaac’s back, he crossed his arms and looked over at Stiles.

Every time Derek tried to explain something, it was like the words short-circuited on their way out, reaching everyone’s ears broken and infuriating, no matter how reasonable he was trying to be. Determined this time, he repeated the lines in his head twice before actually saying them.

“It’s not safe for you to be seen coming over here, Stiles. Your car is too easily recognized, and while you should be safe from the Argents, they know you’re involved. They won’t hesitate to follow you to us. It’s safer for everyone if you keep your distance.”

He was expecting the outcry from Erica and Isaac, but Stiles stayed quiet. As the moments stretched, Derek tensed, preparing to retaliate for whatever Stiles was about to say.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Derek blinked. “What?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t like it, but people know we hang out at school, so it’s pretty inevitable that I’ll be taken in for questioning, and if someone sees me driving into this part of town all the time, they’re gonna know it’s weird. I’m not willing to risk getting you guys in trouble with the Argents _or_ the cops.”

That was…way too easy. The frown was automatic. “I don’t know how long this’ll last. We have to deal with the Argents before they can go back, and we might not be able to get to them until we figure out the kanima.”

“Yeah, look I’ll try to talk to Allison, see if she can get us any inside info. In the meantime, my dad gives his blessing, and if you guys need anything just tell me. I can probably do a dropoff of some kind nearby? So you can walk to pick it up or something.”

He reached for his wallet, but Derek just shook his head. “Keep it. We’ll let you know.”

It was stupid to compare Stiles with Scott, but even though they claimed to be as close as brothers, the difference between them was extreme. Stiles hadn’t made any more claims about being pack, but he offered himself up for whatever they needed. Scott spoke of nothing _but_ being pack, and hadn’t even asked how Erica and Boyd were now that they couldn’t go home. Where was the disconnect between them?

As Stiles got ready to leave the pouting Betas, Isaac pulled him in for another headbutt. Derek hadn’t taught him that, though it’d been a daily occurrence between him and Laura, and with their family before the fire. Apparently, some things were just instinctive, like how the three of them automatically curled up together on Isaac’s mattress every night. They hadn’t made any remarks about needing more space or wanting their own rooms, just fallen onto the blankets together.

Derek’d nearly had a heart attack the first night, when he realized that Erica and Boyd had fallen asleep wrapped around each other. This wasn’t a line he ever thought he’d have to walk. Worrying about whether his dating Betas were going to do something stupid with each other hadn’t been a part of the plan, and Derek had no clue how to go about warning them not to do anything that would have _consequences_. He didn’t even know if he should be letting them share a room with Isaac as a buffer, or force them to separate and have Erica take his own room.

But they seemed happy, and he hadn’t even caught them kissing yet. Just staring at each other and leaning into each other even more than they did Isaac. The both of them stank of affection and equal parts attraction and embarrassment, but nothing more serious. Definitely nothing like what Scott’d smelled like while seeing Allison. He’d gotten lucky, having two Betas that were shy as hell.

Once Stiles was gone, Derek refused to let Erica, Boyd, and Isaac get too caught up in moping or wander off to laze around. He walked over to the main lightswitch on the wall and cleared his throat to get their attention. “Next, we’re working on sight.”

With a smirk, he flipped the lights out.

* * *

Three days after being warned away from seeing the Betas, Stiles was just bored. Normally, he’d spend his break sleeping most of the day and playing videogames with Scott the rest of the time. But with everything happening, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep too long, just in case he missed something. Plus, Scott was still supremo grounded and rule number one was “No Stiles.”

He’d half-hoped that this year it’d be a bit different, and he’d have way more people to hang out with, like the rest of the pack and Allison, and even Lydia. But no, the pack was off limits for their own safety, Allison wouldn’t answer his coded texts about school projects, and Lydia was still a little gun-shy about hanging out with him while she tried to cope with all the information he’d thrown at her. He didn’t have the excuse of keeping her company in case Peter’s memories popped up either, because apparently they’d faded out for the most part.

Even Heather had gone on vacation with her family.

So, Stiles stayed home with his dad, watching movies and arguing over sugar and cholesterol until the only way to make peace was watching another movie. He made a couple shady drop-offs of food that was requested a couple blocks away from the depot, leaving Derek’s debit card at the bottom of one of the bags when he was asked. Once in a while he got texts from Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, all from Isaac’s number, with little tags at the end to show who they were from.

**Flash & Co.: The water in the shower is cold! Theres only one mirror and its tiny! I feel like Im at bootcamp - Catwoman**

**Flash & Co.: Apparently Derek can cook??? Why are we eating pizza and gas station food if he can cook??**

**Flash & Co.: Derek’s been in his room for four hours straight. I have nowhere to hide. Erica and Isaac might kill each other, just so you know. - Boyd**

He got texts from Scott too, and even the occasional message from Lydia, which he supposed was better than nothing.

**Definitely Robin: My mom is making me clean the house. Have you heard from Allison?**

**Black Canary: Peter played basketball, didn’t he? My mother thinks I’ve given up on lacrosse players and switched to the basketball team. It’s insulting.**

By Thursday in their week of break, Allison was the only one who hadn’t gotten ahold of him somehow. He wasn’t sure if he should worry about her, since she was constantly protected by armed archers and gunsmen. Then again, he wasn’t actually sure what their policies were on dealing with rebellious daughters who dated werewolves in secret. Allison’s dad had tied her up in an abandoned house just for training. Maybe Stiles _should_ worry.

He headed up to his room after lunch trying to figure out how to be even _less_ conspicuous in the text he wanted to send Allison. They were supposed to be lab partners, right? That was the story? So why couldn’t she respond to questions about class?

The door to his room was closed, even though Stiles was sure he’d left it open on his way down. When he poked it open a crack, he saw that the window was open, when he was sure he’d left it closed. Sighing loudly, Stiles shoved his way into the room. “I _told_ you to text me, D—Allison?”

She was sitting on the corner of his bed, glaring down at the floor and playing with a beanie in her hands. Looking up as Stiles closed the door, she shoved the beanie back on her head.

“I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t text you or call, and I’m not supposed to be here so I figured coming through the front door was a bad idea.”

Still blinking at the window, then back at Allison, Stiles nodded. “Uh, yeah, if you need to lay low, I’m guessing you wouldn’t—I’m sorry, you climbed up my house and came through the _window_?”

Allison glanced at the window and shrugged innocently. “Yes? I did eight years of gymnastics.”

“Of course you did.” Finally, Stiles relaxed and went over to his chair, sitting backwards and swinging it from side to side. “So, what’s up? I’ve been trying to text you.”

She spread her knees a little more and leaned her elbows down on them, dragging her hands over her face. “Yeah, I know. That’s not really gonna work anymore. They said I have to keep my distance from you too, now.”

“What? Why?” Stiles thought back to the rave. He hadn’t been face to face with any of the Argents. Had they recognized his car?

“No idea. All I know is that this is literally the only time I’ve been allowed to leave the house since that night. It’s my only free time, _period_. I told them I was going for a run.” She gestured down at her tank top, exercise pants, and the armband around her bicep. “God, I just needed _out_.”

Though Stiles was immensely flattered that Allison’d shown up at his window, he couldn’t help but say, “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t go to Scott’s instead. Since you’re having to do the hiding anyway.”

Allison shook her head. “No, I—I don’t really…not today.”

Immediately, Stiles was out of his chair and headed for the bed. “Hey, woah, talk to me. What’d he do?”

“Why do you assume he did it?” Allison asked.

“Because lately, _every_ time people are pissed with Scott, it’s because of something he did, not them. Besides, isn’t that supposed to be the way it goes? If a couple is fighting, it’s gotta be the guys’ fault?”

Shaking her head again turned into sniffles in an instant. “No, he—” Allison coughed a little. “First off, that’s total bullshit, so knock it off. Second…it was just—Did he tell you I was there, at the rave?”

“Uh, Isaac mentioned seeing you with Scott.”

“I…” Allison trailed off for a second, then whispered. “I was on a date.”

Stiles blinked. “I feel like I missed something kind of major.”

Allison groaned and threw herself backwards, her hair splaying out on the mattress around her head. “It was Scott’s idea! I mean, I said yes to the date before he brought it up, but it was an accident. Matt was—”

“Hold on, you went on a date with _Matt?_ ” Stiles choked. “Ally, what the fuck?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to! He was just talking at me and I wasn’t listening and I accidentally said yes when he asked me to go to the rave. But then Scott said it was a good idea?” Allison made a face. “That we should ‘be seen with other people’ to throw my parents off. He even told me to kiss him if I had to.”

Sucking air through his teeth, Stiles dropped back on the mattress next to her, careful to tilt his body so he didn’t crack his head against hers. “Oh _jesus_ , Scott.”

Allison’s laugh was hollow. “Yeah. But, I didn’t know about your plan. I swear I didn’t know. And my parents…I told them. About everything, about Jackson and the library.”

Stiles winced. “ _That’s_ why they showed up. Ally, I don’t blame you.”

Suddenly, Allison sat up again, looking down at him with glassy eyes. “Seriously?”

Lifting himself up to his elbows, Stiles tried to shrug. “Well, yeah. Dude, this stuff is so insane, even _I_ wanted to tell your parents about it until Derek warned me off. They’re actual _grown-ups_. Plus, I told my dad, so I can’t really blame you for telling yours.”

Allison’s lip trembled. “Stiles, Scott was _so_ mad. He was _so so_ mad. He—”

There was defending his brother for making some stupid ass mistakes, and then there was watching his brother’s girlfriend burst into tears over whatever he’d said to her. Shoving aside the urge to apologize on Scott’s behalf, Stiles pushed himself into a sitting position and held his arms out, letting Allison curl up in them. “I’m sorry, Ally. I—We were trying to trap Jackson and…fuck, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be stuck in the middle.”

Eventually, Allison pulled away again and wiped at her eyes. “God, that’s not even why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

“No!” Allison burst. “It’s my _mom_. She’s gone nuts, I swear. I mean, I took Matt home—”

“Again, what the _fuck_?”

“God, total, _total_ mistake. He’s so creepy. But I took him home, and by the time I got back, my mom had this whole schedule made. Every minute of every day for the next two weeks, she’s got all these training sessions for me. It never stops!” Allison shoved her way to her feet. “She makes me do pushups and situps and pullups and every other damn ‘up’ possible, and then I have to practice my archery in all these weird conditions they made up.” She swayed to one side. “Then there’s all the knife training and the hand to hand.” She swayed to the other side. “And when I’m in so much fucking pain I can’t move, she sits me down and makes me learn strategy. I’ve got assigned reading! It’s spring break, and I have to read four chapters of _On War_ by Carl von whatever-the-fuck every night.”

Stiles wanted to interrupt, to slow Allison’s fury before something got broken, but she looked ready to burst and her eyes almost sparked when she looked at him again. “And every time I make a mistake, you’d think I was stomping on the Argent name. And I can’t _focus_ anymore, Stiles! I keep screwing up and it’s only getting _worse_. I can’t even do any of the _stupid_ self defense flips like what I was trying to do to Jackson. She keeps looking at me like if I don’t learn it all _right now_ , then I’m gonna die.”

Finally, Stiles threw his hands up and stood, keeping Allison from pacing another line in the room. “Okay, just calm down, Ally. Just breathe.” He put his hands on her shoulders once she didn’t look like she wanted to throw him into a wall just for existing. “It’s gonna be okay. Now, look, I can’t really help with the rest of the stuff, but maybe with the flip? Why don’t you try it on me? There’s no one here to yell at you.”

“The way I’m supposed to do it, Stiles,” Allison said, “it would _hurt_ you. It’s so much more than defensive stuff with her, everything turns into a stab to the back.”

Shuddering, Stiles shook his head. “Okay, then maybe we don’t break me. What if—What if you taught _me_ how to do it?”

“What? How would that help?”

Stiles was flying by the seat of his pants here, but he just wanted to _help_ somehow. “They say that if you can’t explain what you’re studying well enough for someone completely unfamiliar to understand, then you must not understand it yourself. So, if you can teach me the moves, then it proves that you _know_ how to do them. Besides, we both know I’m not gonna be able to hurt you.”

Allison considered it for a second, then nodded. “Okay, I guess it’s worth a try. But, we need more space than this.”

So, Stiles led her downstairs to the living room, and they shoved the couch and coffee table off to the sides to make an area Allison deemed big enough.

She started a lot slower than Stiles had thought she would, not jumping into the parts she was getting wrong, and instead walking him through how to brace his arms and how to settle his weight evenly on both feet.

“Little further apart, Stiles,” came his dad’s voice from the entryway.

Stiles had shifted his feet as directed before he realized Allison was frozen next to him.

“Oh,” Stiles dropped out of his position and put a hand on Allison’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I told him about everything, remember?”

Allison took a breath. “You know?”

Raising an eyebrow, Stiles’ dad stepped around them to sit on the couch a safe distance away. “Oh yeah. Werewolves, kanimas, _hunters_.”

Dipping her head, Allison mumbled, “I—I’m not like the rest of my family, I swear. I just want to help.”

“I heard that arrow wound in the deputy was from you,” Noah said smoothly.

“He’s was gonna hurt Isaac!” Allison cried, hardening as she tried to defend herself.

But Stiles’ dad just put a hand up. “It was a good shot. Now, I have two questions for you, then I’ll let you get back to work.” He leaned forward onto his knees. “One; is my son in danger from you for being part of Derek’s pack?”

“No!” Allison shook her head so hard her beanie almost slid off the back. “I’ve been trying to help Derek’s pack, not hurt them, and I’d never hurt Stiles.”

Stiles himself puffed up a little, preparing to drag his dad away and tell him off for giving Allison the third-degree when she was already stressed enough.

Noah nodded deeply and stood up. “In that case, two; have you eaten lunch yet? We have leftovers.”

It was harder than Stiles had thought it would be to learn to flip someone over, if only because he couldn’t keep himself balanced. Sure, when Stiles wasn’t paying attention it was easy to hop on skateboarding rails and walk across them like a tightrope, but standing in the middle of his living room, he couldn’t keep his feet on the ground without leaning on one or the other.

After the third time he got knocked back trying to block Allison’s strikes, she huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Stiles, I _know_ you can stand still. Come on, work with me here.”

As if his body was hyping up just to be spiteful, Stiles bounced on his toes. “I dunno, I just, it’s like I can’t stick my feet to the ground, you know?”

Allison shook her head. “I honestly have no clue what you mean. I don’t have ADHD. God, what did you do as a kid when you had timeouts or whatever?”

Stiles snorted. “Like I remember?”

Noah’s appearance looked perfectly opportune, but Stiles was pretty sure he’d been listening in from the dining room the last twenty minutes. “It helps to give him visuals. Stiles, close your eyes.”

Shaking his hands out, Stiles did as he was told. Normally his twitches went mostly unnoticed, but now that he knew he was supposed to be still, every flick of his fingers felt as obvious as if he were hopping up and down.

“Imagine a string, a vine, rope, whatever it takes. It’s wrapped around each of your ankles and pulling them down to the ground. Once your heel hits the carpet, it’s stuck. Glued. You couldn’t move if you wanted to.”

If he scrunched his face up, Stiles could picture that. The first image that came to mind was those twining flower stems that wrapped around the bushes and trees in the Preserve. He’d gotten his ankles caught in those plenty of times. Slowly, he lowered his feet to the ground, letting his heels sink into the thin carpet and imagined they’d been glued there, as immovable as the mountain ash had been on the concrete outside the rave.

He opened his eyes and nodded at Allison, who struck out with one arm. Stiles put his own arm up and didn’t so much as waver when the hit came. At Allison’s grin, he smiled back.

“Much better. Thank you, Mr. Stilinski.”

By the time they got to the main event, Stiles was actually sweating a little, and his forearms were bruised to hell. Still, this wasn’t for him, it was for Allison, so he got into position and listened to her go over what he was supposed to do.

“Right, so say I’m behind you. I reach over your shoulders and try to hook one elbow around your neck. What do you do?” Gently, she settled into the position at his back.

“Uh, I knock your hand away?” Stiles tried to shove at Allison’s wrist as it neared his neck, but it was an awkward angle.

“Grab my wrist with your opposite hand. Now, you’re gonna tuck your chin and duck to pull my arm over to the side you grabbed with, good. A little further forward, you want your ear to be behind my elbow so I can’t bend it. Okay, now pull, just enough to unbalance me. Can you feel the difference?”

Stiles could, and it was a little unnerving. If he pulled too hard, he could probably break her elbow. There was a distinct shift in her weight against his back as he slowly increased the pressure.

Allison was calm and quiet. “You feel where your shoulder is tucked against my chest, the same with your hips? In one move, you’re going to lift your shoulder and your hips and pull again, tipping me to the side. It’s not gonna look fancy, but it’s gonna work.”

Closing his eyes and grimacing, Stiles did as he was told, and suddenly Allison’s body was on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to fall next time.”

“How to fall?”

“Yup, but first. You need a way to keep me down. So, don’t _actually_ do this unless you’re really being attacked, but you’re gonna twist my wrist this direction—Ow, yes, exactly—and put the arch of your foot right up over my esophagus. If you’re doing this to someone, do it with _intent_ , or the position will make it way too easy for you to get knocked down too. You want them more focused on the boot in their throat than tripping you.”

Stiles didn’t dare even try to put his socked foot over Allison’s throat. She was right about his balance being off like this, and the last thing he wanted was to trip and _step_ on her. “Uh, awesome. Got it.”

He let go and Allison held up her other hand to get helped up. “My mom says I have to focus on debilitating my opponent before I try to actually take them down, since I’m not as strong as your average werewolf. I’m pretty sure that would go for you too. That means groin kicks, instep stomping, and throat punches are in your near future. Now, let’s try this again until you can do it without flinching.”

Stiles hadn’t known that he could go to bed sore without doing any laps, but he was covered in little bruises and tense muscles by the time Allison had gone home and he’d flopped onto his mattress. She’d left smiling, at least, way more sure of herself than when she came in.

—

Allison appeared the next day, while Stiles was still nursing his muscles, with pleading eyes. She was as masterful at puppy dog eyes as Scott, and Stiles found himself in the living room again, this time dressed for the occasion in gym shorts and a tank top. She left two hours later, after giving Stiles a crash course in how to hit the ground without destroying himself. Apparently it was all about slapping the ground as he hit it.

She’d also given him his own homework, sets of those dreaded pushups and sit ups, along with what she called a “dance routine.” It was a set of movements, imitating how he was supposed to block and attack, but he had to do it in slow motion, like Tai chi.

“This isn’t about learning something new, it’s about making the old stuff reflex. You’ve seen _Karate Kid_ , right? Wax on, wax off. And you go slow so you get it right. Speed comes with familiarity.”

He had to admit, it was working like a charm at bringing her mood up. So long as he didn’t mention Scott, the kanima, or anything happening in the real world, she was able to settle into her own little teacher headspace.

Stiles’ dad was having the time of his life too, watching Stiles practice falling and managing mostly to just flail wildly every time he lost his balance. “You know, I tried to teach you these things ages ago, when I was flexible enough to do it with you. You refused.”

“Yeah, well, I did the rest of what you wanted, so no complaining or I’m pulling out the tofu.”

At Allison’s request, Stiles finally responded to Scott’s questions by saying she was on lockdown, which wasn’t a lie. She was just choosing to sneakily visit—and basically beat up—Stiles instead of Scott. He only went through with it because she promised to talk to him as soon as they got back to school.

After a week off, it was hell to go back to classes. Even though he’d tried to keep from sleeping in, nothing could compare with morning _and_ afternoon lacrosse practice, along with getting interviewed about Boyd and Erica missing. Isaac was home from school too, but at least his absences were excused by Derek. Finstock fussed about losing Isaac to Mono as though it’d killed him, rather than just keeping him out of school.

Even better, once Stiles finally got to explain to Scott everything that’d happened at the rave, including his fleeting brilliance with the mountain ash, it was like Scott’d turned off for a while, like he’d done right after getting the bite. He only wanted to talk about school and the classes he was trying not to fail. Stiles had no idea if Scott and Allison had even had their talk, because Scott just ran off to Deaton’s after practice every day.

Friday afternoon, once Scott’d made his run for his mom’s car and Allison had given Stiles a sneaky message through Lydia with the time she was coming over for their little training session, Stiles headed out to the nearest gas station to pick up snacks. He’d discovered that Allison was willing to forgive him for “forgetting” to do pushups if he had Twizzlers on hand.

He did a quick count of the cars in the station parking lot as he got out of the Jeep, more out of habit than actual suspicion. He liked to see what off-colors people got their cars painted. Those reds that were just a little too pink, and the greens that weren’t quite lime, but close. The ones that somehow made the vehicle stand out even more than if it were a flashy white or hot rod red.

Among the SUV’s with license plates from Idaho and tiny Mazdas like Allison’s, was a police cruiser. Curious, Stiles went a few feet the opposite direction of the door to check the car number. His mouth went dry when the number matched his dad’s usual cruiser.

His dad was still on leave, wasn’t he? Or, maybe he’d gotten called back in while Stiles was at school, and just hadn’t texted him yet.

Beaming, Stiles raced into the building and looked around for his dad. He wasn’t in the snack aisle, thankfully, nor the alcohol aisle, though that was pretty obvious. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere that Stiles could see. There were just a couple moms dragging small kids by the hand and Mickey, holding a pastry in wax paper.

Stiles didn’t really have to ask, not when Mickey’s face fell as soon as he caught Stiles’ eye. But he went up anyway, his thumbs in his pockets and his voice a fake cheerful that he was pretty sure no one actually believed.

“Mickey, hey, uh—what’re you doing here?” As he spoke, he scanned Mickey’s uniform for the telltale shiny star that was sure to make him lose his shit in the middle of a gas station. His heart lifted a millimeter when he couldn’t see it, then sank six feet under when Mickey sighed and pulled a sheriff’s badge off the side of his belt.

Not _a_ sheriff’s badge. _The_ sheriff’s badge. His dad’s badge.

Mickey’s eyes were soft. “Son, I don’t like this any more than you do. I’m too old to be running around town dealing with these things, but they asked me to step up for a while, until…well, until things get worked out.”

Stiles nodded, not really seeing much besides the silver flash of metal in Mickey’s hand. “Right, right. Of course. I’m—I’m just gonna head out. Have a—a good one,” he said. Backing up a few steps before turning, he retreated from the station and ran to his Jeep.

The sight waiting for him at home was no better. There were two boxes sitting on the dining table, lids tossed off to the side to expose their contents. His dad’s coffee cup coasters, the potted aloe Stiles had dropped off one afternoon as a joke that his dad had kept alive out of pure spite. The only framed picture of all three of them that they kept on display, that usually sat right next to his dad’s computer.

“Stiles.”

Stiles spun around to stare at his dad. “They can’t do this,” he whispered.

If anything, Noah looked as bad as Stiles currently felt. He’d either forgotten to shave that morning, or just didn’t care, and his hair stuck up in tufts that looked like they’d been pulled on more than a few times. “It’s not as bad—”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles cried. “Not as bad as it looks? I just saw Mickey driving around in _your_ car, wearing _your_ badge. Now they made you clean out your office?”

Finally, Stiles’ dad gave up on placating him. He sank into a chair and put his forehead in his hands. “They said it was only temporary. Now…they just want to make room ‘in case.’ Mickey couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

“But you didn’t do anything _wrong_ ,” Stiles burst. “I did! I’m the one who should be punished, not you. You—this isn’t your fault. They shouldn’t be able to fire you over something that isn’t your fault.”

His dad just shrugged, and Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He bolted up the stairs, nearly tripping and grabbing the rail at the last second before he could bash his face into the top step. He used his body weight to push the door to his bedroom closed, then leaned back against it and closed his eyes.

Stiles’ dad had been sheriff for seven years, since a few months before his mom died. She’d helped him with the election just before she got really sick. Stiles could still remember her little neighborhood ladies’ nights, when every woman on the block and their friend would show up in the living room just to eat snacks and talk. Every time, his mom made sure to talk about what a wonderful sheriff his dad would be.

It wasn’t like the election was all that hard to win. Somehow the sheriff’s position was pretty ignored, and when his dad ran after the old sheriff retired, no one ran against him. But Stiles’ mom was insistent on making sure that people weren’t just voting for him because they didn’t have another option. She wanted them to know how much he cared about the job, how hard he would work.

Noah took the job expecting to be able to stick to paperwork and court dates. It was supposed to be a safe way to keep working in law enforcement so he could stop scaring Stiles’ mom by running around town chasing criminals. It was a blessing for the job to be so simple, especially after Claudia died. 

Then people started getting laid off, and whole sections of the department were disbanded. Like the rest of Beacon Hills, the sheriff’s department began to shrink and collapse in on itself, until there weren’t enough officers to cover the amount of land that the city took up. Stiles was eleven when his dad went back to homicide investigations, forced to pick up all the slack. He helped with prison transport, made regular visits to the county jail, and still went back to his office every night to make sure no one in the department got shafted because his paperwork wasn’t done.

Growing up in the station, Stiles’ view of the system was a bit skewed, he knew. Only big sheriff’s offices were supposed to have police vans or K-9 units, but his dad’s tiny station had two dogs left, and a couple vans that they just didn’t touch. They weren’t remnants of police tools, to Stiles. They were just Doug and Pepper, the black Dutch German Shepherds that wandered the halls of the station, and two dusty wastes of space behind the building. It didn’t feel like some big important thing to borrow one of the vehicles he walked by every day.

It was too easy to forget that the department wasn’t _actually_ his family, that the station wasn’t his second home. Now that he’d fucked that up, his dad was going to lose everything.

He couldn’t let it happen.

A quiet rap on glass made Stiles’ eyes pop open. Allison was crouched outside his window, already dressed in her exercise clothes. 

Breathing deeply to stifle the emotions raging in him, Stiles went over and slid the window up, holding out an arm for Allison to grip as she climbed in. Though she was as pristine as ever, she brushed herself off once she was settled.

“You’re not dressed yet?”

Stiles coughed. “No, not yet. I—I had to run an errand before I got here. Just give me a sec.”

Allison just smiled and headed for the door. “Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“No!” Stiles blurted. He came forward and put a hand on the wood to hold it closed. “Can we just do stuff in here today? Just smaller stuff?”

He wasn’t sure how much his face gave away, but Allison didn’t argue. The room was too small for practicing any takedowns, so once Stiles’d escaped to the bathroom and changed into his practice clothes, she made him go through the motions of various moves by memory. She corrected his stance every few seconds with a quiet murmur and gentle hands, and it felt like a short reprieve from the turmoil in his head.

For once, he had no trouble imagining his feet stuck to the carpet and moving at the honey-slow speed that Allison wanted. He didn’t want to rush, because as soon as he finished doing this and Allison went home, he would have to go back to feeling mountains of guilt.

“Stiles, do you wanna talk about it?” Allison asked, her hands still holding Stiles’ forearms after adjusting their position. She didn’t look him in the eye, gaze focused on his shoulder.

Stiles shook his head, and they moved on. Allison was a beacon of positivity and optimism, and Stiles knew that if he told her what’d happened she would hug him and promise that it wasn’t his fault and everything would be okay. That wasn’t what he needed to hear right now, so it was better to keep it to himself.

Allison left early with a gentle reminder about him doing his exercises, and the moment he’d slid the window down after her, Stiles’ hands started shaking.

Flicking his arms out, Stiles went down the hall to take his afternoon dose of Adderall and got to work. He was going to _fix_ this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> So, I tried to build in a couple scenes that were either missing entirely or needed to get moved around, like the one with Derek and Scott, and the part with Stiles' dad getting 'properly' fired...ish? I just wanted to space things out and give it a lil more development time so that everything wasn't happening in like a two day period. The days of rest make the action parts all the more painful/exciting, don't you think?  
> So...Boyd's bi, and no one can take that away from me. He and Stiles are bi bros.  
> I love me some Stallison and Stydia brotps. Him and Lydia, and him and Allison give me such sibling vibes. I love it. Plus, I felt the need to change the show's decision about Victoria's bite. I think her bite should've healed right away like everyone else's, instead of dragging it out. And I figured she'd have a fucking _plan_ for Allison. Besides, who the fuck _doesn't_ wanna see Allison training Stiles at least a _little_ bit?  
> Oh! And Stiles' phone. He fucking lost that phone in the pool. He shouldn't've have had a damn phone _right_ afterward. It made _no_ sense. So...I changed it. :) Ta da!


	10. Episode 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this early today, because I'm traveling again this weekend (gotta get more of my crap) and I don't wanna leave you guys without a chapter again. This is the party episode, woo!  
> But seriously, as such, there may be triggering content in this in reference to Stiles' hallucinations, discussion of parental abuse, and accidental drug use in general. Protect yourself please.

After typing out everything that he’d learned over the past month and listing everything they knew about the kanima master, Stiles had exactly…nothing. Zilch. There were so many thoughts and random pieces of information and he didn’t know how any of them were supposed to fit together. Something was missing, a keystone that held all the other bits in place to make a full picture. Without it, Stiles didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Lydia texted late Saturday night, and it took Stiles a full hour after seeing the notification for it to register that he should probably read and respond to it.

**Black Canary: Tell me you plan to wear something decent to my party. Something not plaid and not covered in a hoodie is required.**

Stiles wasn’t sure how he’d forgotten that Lydia’s birthday was coming up, especially when their visit to the mall had lasted an extra hour so she could pick out various outfits for the night. He’d watched as she examined each dress on her body in front of the mirrors with the kind of scrutiny he usually gave the sugar content on food for his dad. There were some dresses he’d tried to compliment that she’d just shook her head and sighed at before changing out of it and putting it on the return rack. Others he’d grimaced at while she tilted her head at her reflection and nodded. In general, she hadn’t wanted his input, so he’d downloaded apps onto his new phone and played a few games.

But now, the memory of her telling him the party would start at nine tomorrow night hit him like a brick to the face.

_Wht will u do if I don’t own anythng else?_

**Black Canary: I know for a fact you have a perfectly decent blue button up. And that blazer from before isn’t too atrocious. Black jeans or slacks only.**

At least he wouldn’t have to put any effort into picking his clothes out. The less brain power he had to devote to the rest of the world the better.

His dad came knocking around midnight, popping the door open when Stiles didn’t answer.

“It’s late, what are you working on?”

Stiles didn’t look up from his last ditch effort, flipping through the pages of the yearbook he’d checked out. He’d found it on the kitchen counter downstairs during a snack break and it was all he had left to go through. “Uh, homework.”

The carpet groaned softly at a footstep. “Is it due Monday?”

“Uh…no?” Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d actually just said, so he was winging the response.

“So why are you doing it _now_?”

Even contemplating an answer to that was too much at the moment, so Stiles didn’t speak.

Stiles swore he could feel the heat of his dad’s body as he came up to the desk, though he was at least a foot away. The presence of him was unmistakable. So was the quiet, “What do you think you’re doing?”

With every interruption, Stiles’ concentration was fracturing. He blinked up at his dad for a second and came up with, “I’m simply satisfying my own curiosity.”

His dad’s hand stretched across the yearbook’s glossy pages and pulled the back cover over to close it. “We brought Harris in this morning for questioning.” He paused and sighed. “ _They_ brought him in.”

“And?” Stiles focused properly on his dad now, eager for new information to add to his pile.

“And they’re working on a warrant to arrest him for the murders.”

“For all of them?”

“Enough of them.”

Stiles scowled. “With what proof?”

His dad leaned against the desk. “You remember the couple at the trailer? Tire tracks nearby match Harris’ car.”

Balking, Stiles reached for the yearbook again. “W—that’s not enough.”

Again, the yearbook was closed, almost on his fingers. Stiles pulled his hands back and twitched in indignation.

“Same car was also seen outside the hospital where the pregnant wife was killed. It’s got some bumper sticker on it, a quote from Einstein,” Noah said.

Stiles froze. “Wait, what quote?”

“Something about imagination and knowledge.”

“‘Imagination is more important than knowledge,’ yeah.” Stiles leaned back in his chair. “I saw the same car parked outside the rave.”

His dad puffed a sigh. “That makes you a witness. You’re gonna have to give a statement. It’d be more suspicious not to mention it.”

“But what about the concert promoter Kara?” Stiles asked, ignoring the thought of having to go back to the station and sit in that interrogation room again. “She wasn’t in Harris’ class, right? And I mean, what does Mr. Lahey have to do with Harris?”

There were too many loose ends. Why would Harris send the kanima after Stiles at the game? Why would he send it back to Isaac’s house last month? Why would Harris think his old students were murderers?

“It doesn’t matter,” his dad said. “The tire tracks put Harris at the sight of three murders. It’s damning evidence. Besides, didn’t you say that he was the one who put you in detention before break? That he left the room right before Jackson turned into the kanima?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, it’s not enough. It’s not like the detention was anything unusual.” He snagged the yearbook again and flopped it open to a random page, holding down one corner with his hand while he flipped the pages to keep his dad from closing it again.

“I—I thought you hated this guy.”

“I don’t hate him, he hates me,” Stiles bit out. “And, you know, if he’d killed them all then yeah, lock the guy up. But there’s something missing. It won’t connect.” He flipped another page, scanning for familiar names from the list of the dead, or just any familiar names at all.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey.”

Stiles flipped another page, but he didn’t get to look at it before his dad was pulling him around to look up at him. “You don’t have to solve this for me.”

Stiles sagged into his chair and stared down at the scratch on the edge of his desk. “I have to do _something_.”

“Hey, look at the swim team,” his dad said, tone shifting rapidly. He was tense and focused, and Stiles twisted around to find what was so interesting.

On the page Stiles’d flipped to was a photo of the 2005 swim team with names captioning the picture. Camden Lahey, Kara Simmons, Jessica Bartlett, Sean Long, Tyler Bennet, and Tucker Cornish were all there. Just below was a snapshot of their coach.

“Dad, the coach,” Stiles muttered. “It’s Isaac’s dad.”

His dad reached over and tapped at the page. “This changes everything, Stiles. If they were all involved with the swim team, then it’s possible that the killer and your kanima master is one of the other swimmers. Some sort of grudge against their classmates.” He lifted the yearbook out of Stiles’ hands. “I need to get this to the station first thing in the morning so we can find out who else on the team is still in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles grinned on reflex when his dad ruffled a hand over Stiles’ head. He still hadn’t gotten used to the buzzcut. “You did good, Mischief.”

“Not so bad yourself, Yoda,” Stiles replied. “But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“How about you go to sleep?”

* * *

Derek was annoyed. To be fair, most full moons annoyed him and since becoming an Alpha, they downright infuriated him. But this was different. It was _annoying_ to be feeling some kind of sympathy for a hyperactive, idiotic teenager who did nothing but push his buttons.

On Scott’s first full moon, Derek had been watching from a distance. He knew Scott’d been excited and hyper and all over the place with no control. That was normal, if terrifying, since Scott was doing backflips in the middle of a lacrosse field and threatening to expose the supernatural world. On Isaac’s first full moon it’d been much smoother, at least once he got Isaac back to the depot from the station, but that seemed more to do with Isaac’s repressed personality, which was only now starting to show through cracks in his posturing and defensiveness.

But on Scott’s second full moon, he’d been busy. Scott was rejecting him and refusing to help find the Alpha, and had just accused Derek of murdering at least three people, thereby siccing the entire Beacon County Sheriff’s Department on his ass. Derek had had _enough_. So he’d left Scott to his own devices. Or rather, left him for Stiles to deal with.

Now, Derek was surrounded by three balls of claws, energy, and emotions that were giving him whiplash, and he felt _bad_ for leaving Stiles to put up with Scott on his own that second month.

It wasn’t just Isaac’s mulish fury that saw three different wooden pallets systematically ripped to pieces by noon. It was also Boyd and Erica’s emotions. He’d thought he was _lucky_ with them because they were _shy_. Full moons were great for removing inhibitions and apparently Boyd and Erica were ready to deal with their mutual crush. All at once. With very little clothing.

He was a little pissed that it took him until the middle of the afternoon to realize that if he planted Boyd with Isaac so they could grumble and destroy things in peace and kept Erica busy showing off her newfound love of climbing then he wouldn’t need to worry so much about her trying to stick her tongue down Boyd’s throat. After that the only really dodgy moment was a split second of jealousy that sent Erica rampaging toward Isaac because she thought he was hitting on Boyd. When he was actually just _hitting_ Boyd.

Normally, when they fought, Derek just hid in his room and left them to scream at each other, but he drew the line at Erica beating the shit out of Isaac. He presented as angry, but Boyd looked at him wrong over breakfast and he’d nearly burst into tears. If she went after Isaac there wasn’t much guarantee that he’d bother to defend himself.

In fact, Derek was starting to realize that Isaac tended to _ask_ for the abuse he’d had before, if not in so many words. The way he blew up at the slightest tone of displeasure from Derek, raring up for a fight that he must _know_ he would lose. How whenever he pissed Derek off, he actually became _more_ clingy, refusing to leave Derek’s side as though he was waiting for Derek to take out his anger on him. Like he thought that was the right way to apologize.

It developed an uncomfortable mixture of empathy, pity, and guilt in Derek’s stomach if he thought about it for too long. He _had_ lost his temper with Isaac quite a few times, intimidated him into doing what he was supposed to. It’d been confusing as hell when Stiles wouldn’t let him drag Isaac out of the station last month. They were running out of time and for some reason Stiles had refused to go near Isaac, treating him like the frightened animal that he was at the time until he’d gotten up and left with Derek of his own accord.

He was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized what Isaac had probably been feeling that night until _he_ was the one Stiles was using the voice on. In Deaton’s, when the mere smell of human made him want to vomit.

Because Derek got it. His childhood pre-high school hadn’t been abusive or unhappy, but he still understood that irrational terror of seemingly harmless people. He empathized with Isaac a truly frightening amount, and that only made it worse that he’d used Isaac’s fear of disobedience as a way to control him. It hadn’t been premeditated, but he’d still done it.

He could only be grateful he’d never broken Isaac’s wrist like he’d done to Scott.

Part of him knew that what Isaac really needed was softness. Not coddling, but the kind of gentle comfort that he now realized was exactly what drew Isaac to Stiles. He went to Stiles for comfort and Derek for punishment, and it felt like a punch to the gut. But Derek couldn’t _do_ soft. He didn’t know how anymore. The best he could manage was indifference and calm.

So, when Isaac got riled up, Derek shut him down. He walked away. It didn’t work with anyone else. Erica followed him mercilessly, and Boyd just waited until Derek’s guard was down and then brought whatever they were arguing about right back up. But Isaac let him leave, and a few hours later when Derek reappeared, Isaac didn’t push it again.

It was all he could do.

The day of Isaac’s second full moon and Erica and Boyd’s first, Derek was run _ragged_ trying to deal with all the emotions filling up the depot. He wanted nothing more than to let them out, make them run laps or just _run_ in the Preserve like he’d done on his first moons. It was so much easier to go through a full moon when you were exhausted. But they were all housebound, and their only source of real entertainment was Isaac’s phone, Stiles’ DS, and the books that’d been commandeered from Stiles’ room.

When he finally found a moment where he didn’t think anyone was in danger of screaming or crying, Derek just grabbed one of his own books. At least, until his cell started buzzing.

**Bruce W.: New lead, forgot 2 txt u last nite. All the deaths were ppl on the swim team 6 yrs ago. Isaac’s dad ws coach.**

Derek _remembered_ that. The spring of the fire, the swim team had won State and the whole school had gone nuts over it. Derek had been distracted by…things, but he remembered how the halls had stank of chlorine after they paraded the team down it with their trophy.

**Bruce W.: Dad thinks it’s probably some1 else on the team tht we’re looking 4. He’s gonna look up who else on the team is in town.**

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed again.

**Bruce W.: 2night’s a full moon.**

Derek frowned, knowing where it was leading.

_Yes, it is._

**Bruce W.: I don’t kno how i forgot. Shit. Lydia’s b-day is 2day. She’s having a party 2night. I’ll cancel.**

**__** _Don’t. You can’t be here, Stiles. Especially not tonight. It’s not safe for us or for you._

Derek wasn’t actually _happy_ that Stiles wasn’t able to be there for the full moon. He didn’t have to like having Stiles around to acknowledge that he was helpful, especially with the Betas. He gave them the physical comfort that they needed, and they were going to be _pissed_ tonight when a pack member was missing.

**Bruce W.: Do u not think u’ll b able 2 control them?**

Derek blinked at his phone, not sure where that came from. He half thought it was a typo, until he remembered standing in his ruined house and smelling old and fresh bruises all over Stiles’ skin as he apologized for Scott’s temper like a battered wife. He hadn’t smelled anything recently, but clearly it’d had an effect on Stiles the first time.

_They would never hurt you, Stiles. I’m talking about the Argents. They won’t care if you’re human if they catch you with us on a full moon._

**Bruce W.: I mean, yah. P sure they didn’t care last month either. Do u kno how stupidly lucky I ws tht Isaac knockd that guy out?**

**Bruce W.: But dude, tht’s a LOT of wolvs 2 deal wth alone. R u sure?**

**__** _It’ll be fine. Watch Scott._

**Bruce W.: Aye Aye, Captain.**

**__** _Stop that._

Derek tossed his phone to the end of his mattress and turned back to his book, only for a rapid knocking on his door to pull him away from the page.

“What, Erica?” he asked. For some reason, it amused the three of them to no end that he could tell who was on the other side of the door. As if they didn’t all knock completely different, or he couldn’t both hear and smell them from two hundred yards in open space.

The door cracked open a little, and Erica leaned in, chewing a piece of bubblegum with a grin. “Stiles says to tell you this:” She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry like a six-year-old, then giggled and slammed the door to run off.

Groaning, Derek reached down and grabbed the phone again.

_Stop encouraging them._

As the day crept forward into evening, everything inside Derek’s skin began to tighten. His muscles felt too tightly wound, and he itched to go outside. Being underground was bad most days, but now it felt like he was suffocating, unable to feel the moon or the fresh air. Everything smelled like dust and rotted, processed wood and metal, and it all coated his tongue like a film that he couldn’t get off.

He’d only chosen to hole up here because he couldn’t go anywhere less decrepit in case he caught too much attention from the Argents. That, and because it technically belonged to him. His mother had owned the depot before the fire, back when it was actually being used, and with Laura gone, Derek was the sole heir to his family’s property and finances. His bank account had been frozen for the month that he was on the run, but the minute he was cleared he’d made a trip to a bank in the next town over to get it cleared again. The minor risk from the hunters had been worth getting electricity and water in the stifling building.

If Derek was feeling this messed up, he didn’t want know what the others were dealing with. But he _needed_ to know, so he chucked his book on the floor and left his room, every movement jerky and too hard.

They weren’t doing well, to say the least. Isaac was staring at the wall, dragging his claws down a random board like some sick version of petting it, pulling up little curls of wood that were piling up at its sides. Boyd was pacing, making a strict line across the floor and growling at the support beams that dared stand too close to where he wanted to walk.

To Derek’s surprise, Erica was the most calm. She was sat at their makeshift table, still tapping away at a phone game, albeit with trembling fingers.

“Erica?” he asked, approaching the one who looked least likely to snap at him.

Looks were deceiving, since his single step her direction started up a growl that was clearly involuntary. Erica turned to look at him over her shoulder with a fully shifted face. With effort, she mumbled around her fangs, “I’m so glad I had my period before we got stuck down here. It was bad, but this is _worse_.”

That was…not something he’d considered. He wasn’t worried about the awkwardness of it, at least not for himself. He’d grown up in a house with four women, three of them werewolves. But he hadn’t considered how dealing with that extra burst of fury before her first full moon had given Erica at least a little bit of resistance to the mindless chaotic energy that Derek knew was burning in everyone’s chest.

Isaac was the one he was worried about. He looked ready to snap at any second, and now Derek wanted to take back what he’d thought about Isaac not fighting back. Right now, he looked pretty ready to fight.

“Erica, you’re going first,” Derek said.

He held out a hand to her and wasn’t offended in the least when she just stormed past him to the train car. He followed her in and watched her pick up the shackles she’d picked out from what he’d cobbled together. She fumbled getting the first one around her wrist and immediately threw it to the floor.

“I don’t get why we have to do this,” she snapped. “I’m not some fucking dog, Derek. I can stay inside just fine without a stupid anchor.”

Derek went over and scooped up the shackles without kneeling. It would only set her off to think he was in a weak position. “Do you remember what we talked about? I told you, being under the influence of the full moon without an anchor is worse than being drunk. You agreed to wear these, and you agreed that I should make you wear them if you fight me on it. Remember?”

It was something he’d only remembered a few days ago, and wished like hell he’d thought to tell Scott and Stiles about, but six years with only his sister for company had nearly wiped the memory from his mind. There were strict rules about what wolves could and couldn’t agree to during an anchor-less full moon. No sex, no tattoos, no major decisions of any kind. It was impossible for them to properly consent while they were out of control. So the conditions were talked about before, laid out so they understood and agreed to being properly restrained beforehand, giving the others permission to ignore their outbursts if they argued on the actual night.

Peter’s wife, Prue, had told him that the human comparison wasn’t as high stakes most of the time. When they got drunk, it was agreed upon that even if the inebriated person argued, they still needed to be taken home and put to bed. Or if they did drugs, they were surrounded by people who knew better than to take advantage.

“It’s not fair!” Erica cried, backing up to the wall and snarling. “You can’t just lock us up in here. I haven’t done anything wrong! Why did you do this to me, why did you make me like this?”

Her voice was desperate and scared, but Erica’s heart was steady as a rock. Again, he remembered Prue’s comparison. Like hyenas, laughing or crying like a human child to draw people out of the village. Anchorless wolves were instinctively manipulative as they tried to escape their bonds.

Shutting out her complaints, Derek stepped forward and snapped the first shackle on too quickly for Erica to react. Instantly, she began to paw at it, trying to yank it off even though she’d listened carefully a couple days ago as he explained that there was a simple release latch on it. Derek just grabbed her other wrist and snapped it into its own shackle, then dragged each of the chains attached over to their hooks at the back of the car to keep her arms spread far enough she couldn’t scratch herself or anyone else.

Once he’d finished with her, Derek left her ranting and growling at him and went out to the platform to find his next Beta. He stepped up to Boyd first, since he was the other new wolf. Boyd just continued his pacing and muttered, “Take Isaac first.”

Sighing, Derek reached forward, prepared to drag Boyd in, but he paused when Boyd actually snarled at him and yanked away. “Take Isaac _first._ ”

It wasn’t worth it to argue when they were both gonna end up in the same place, so Derek went over to Isaac’s huddled form instead. For once, his first instinct was to reach out, if only to pull Isaac along. At the last second, Derek managed to find the control to stop and give him space.

“Isaac, come on.”

Isaac didn’t stand, but he did look up, growling softly.

“Come on, you know what you need to do.”

The next five seconds stretched Derek’s frayed patience to its limit. Then, Isaac uncurled himself and stood up, dragging the board with him into the train car. A small conversation of snarls and growls broke out, then Derek heard the quiet click of both the shackles Isaac had chosen locking into place. That was easier than he’d thought it would be.

Even better, as he walked past Boyd, Derek heard his tense figure follow into the space where Isaac and Erica were chained. In moments, he had all three of his Betas locked up safely and securely. None of them looked happy about it, but he hadn’t been expecting that.

As the moon rose, Derek’s senses heightened even further than usual. He’d been so busy trying to retrieve Isaac and all that entailed last month, he hadn’t been able to appreciate how good his hearing, scenting, sight, and touch really were. As a Beta full moons were hours of too much, too loud. As an Alpha, every single sound grated on his ears. Even Erica’s quiet whimpers as she tried to cope with her own oversensitive ears made him want to snap his teeth in her direction. There was a reason that music wasn’t played during full moons, at least not for anchorless wolves.

The buzzing of his phone from all the way in his bedroom made everyone in the train flinch, and Derek bolted to turn the damn thing off.

**Bruce W.: How r u guys doing? Just heading 2 Lydia’s. Txt me if u need me. Pls.**

“What did he say?” Isaac called, suddenly irate. “Where is he?”

Derek turned the sound off on his phone completely, and stood in his room as he responded, “Who?”

“Don’t be stupid, Derek,” Erica snapped. “The only two people who text you are Stiles and Scott, and I can smell you from here. You’re not pissed off. Where is Stiles? Is he on his way?”

Her words came out clumsy and lisped around her fangs, but the anger behind them was real. Anger and worry, multiplying as it bounced around between the three of them.

Gritting his teeth, Derek closed his eyes and covered his ears preemptively. “Stiles isn’t going to be here tonight.”

The shouts and growls and roars came from three voices that time, as Boyd joined in.

“Why not?”

“Where is he?”

“He should be here!”

Derek pressed his palms harder against his ears, unable to block it out. “He’s with Scott.”

That only made things worse.

Chains began to rattle and Derek ran back to the car to see Erica yanking again, trying to pull away. She’d resorted to more snarls and growls, and beside her Isaac wasn’t too far behind.

“Not fair!” he shouted. “Let us go!”

“Stiles can’t be here, or the Argents would follow him. He’s watching Scott,” Derek said. Placating three new wolves was a pointless task, but he tried anyway.

The only response he got was a small chorus of roars.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Stiles was on Lydia’s front step with a perfectly wrapped present in hand and the doorbell rung before he realized that he’d left the house in his same usual plaid, hoodie, and blue jeans. When Lydia answered the door in the stretchy grey dress she’d given what Stiles had mentally assumed was an eight out of ten in the mall, she didn’t look remotely impressed.

“Where is your sense of style, Stiles? Maybe I should have helped _you_ pick out clothes at the mall, instead of Allison,” she asked, effortlessly shifting the platter of drinks she was holding from one hand to the other.

Stiles held up the present. “Peace offering?”

Lydia sighed, but reached out to grab the gift. She looked down at the label, frowning. “Wrong kind of party.”

“I mean, obviously. The gift is just…it’s whatever. Just take it, and please ignore any romantic hints that I may have left inside it.”

At Lydia’s squint, he sighed. “Look, I wrapped that _months_ ago. Way before you told me off. I wasn’t about to rip it up and rewrap it. That fold job took me like two hours with YouTube videos!”

Finally, Lydia shrugged and held out the platter. “Loyalty is such a rare quality in a human. Drink. The others will be here soon.”

Stiles swiped up one of the little plastic cups. They were much fancier than red solo cups, considering they were gonna get thrown away by the end of the night. The punch inside smelled herbally and sweet, so he took a gulp, wiggling his eyebrows when Lydia smiled at him.

“Hang your jacket up over there. And roll your sleeves up, you heathen. This is an important night; the least you could do is look the part.”

Scott arrived about twenty minutes later, hopping out of his mom’s car only to immediately duck and stick his head back through the window. When he straightened up again and started walking up the drive, he stopped three times to turn back at whatever was being called to him before his mom drove off. He was still wincing as he reached Stiles’ side.

“I thought I’d be done with the grounding by now, but she hasn’t even _hinted_ at letting me drive. Plus, I’m supposed to call her for a ride by midnight because of school tomorrow.” He ran his hand through his hair and growled softly. “It’s not fair that you’re not in even a little trouble.”

Stiles shrugged. “Dude, I told my dad what was going on, and it’s not like he’s not keeping me on a leash lately.” He held up his phone. “Hourly updates required. But hey, we can talk to your mom, Scott. My dad could even—”

“No _way_ ,” Scott said. “I’m not doing that to her. Can you imagine how much danger she’d be in? It’s not like she’s the sheriff, she can’t just call for backup.” He froze. “I mean, you know what I mean. Sorry.”

Stiles flinched anyway at the reminder of his dad’s leave of absence, but bobbed his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m not gonna fight you on it, man. Just, if you change your mind, you’ve got us and the pack to help explain things.”

Soothed, Scott nodded back at him, then swiped a glass off one of the trays Lydia had laying around and took a drink. He frowned down at it as he swallowed, then took a smaller sip. “What is this stuff?”

“Some kind of punch? Lydia made it. She’s been shoving glasses in my hands since I got here. I don’t even know if it’s alcoholic or not.” Stiles lifted his own glass and took another gulp. “It’s not bad though.”

“Yeah, it’s decent. Have you seen Allison recently?”

Stiles choked and nearly shot punch through his nose. It was a close call, and his nostrils burned. “Jesus, dude, learn to use segues. I saw her at school on Friday, and the rest of this week?”

Scott shifted on his feet and took a drink, draining the glass, then grabbing another from the tray. “But I mean, have you talked to her? Like, has she said anything to you? About me?”

“Uh…” Stiles sighed. “Okay, yeah. She did. Scott, what the _fuck_ were you—”

“There she is!” Scott slapped at Stiles’ chest with the back of his hand and looked out the window.

Turning to look too, Stiles watched Allison storm up the drive, her purse swinging wildly at her elbow. She shoved in the front door without knocking and headed for the hall to the backyard, marching right past them and swiping a glass from the same tray Scott had. Allison knocked it back like a shot and dropped the cup into the nearest trash can.

Scott groaned and shuffled over to lean against the wall. “Oh my god, she’s pissed.”

But Allison hadn’t so much as glanced at Scott, or Stiles for that matter. “Uh, I’m not so sure that it’s about you,” he muttered, taking a step in the direction Allison had gone. “At least, not right now.” He paused. “Hey, Jackson’s sure to show, yeah? We should keep an eye out for him. I’ll check to see if he came in the back.”

Not listening to Scott’s reply, Stiles headed toward the backyard in search of the red flowery dress Allison was wearing.

He found her by the pool, drinking another glass of punch and staring into the water. When he fumbled a little on the step down from the house, she turned on him, eyes blazing. Recognition calmed her for all of a moment.

“I’m just so done, Stiles. I—I’m done. I can’t _believe_ —”

“Woah, hold on. I need some context. Are you talking about Scott? Did you guys—”

Allison shook her head viciously. “No! No, it’s my mom. Can you believe, after weeks of telling me to spy on my best friend, she tried to make me stay home tonight? Lydia came over earlier to go over outfits and she tried to take that away from me too, wanting to ‘talk,’ as if I haven’t been stuck with her every second of every day for two weeks! I’m just sick of it!”

She threw her arms out to gesture, and half her drink splashed out of the cup into the pool. Allison turned to stare at it as it dispersed into the water.

After a second, Stiles couldn’t hold back his snort. Allison jerked to look at him, then her face broke into a smile and she covered her mouth to giggle. “Oops.”

Stiles chuckled and stepped over, handing Allison his glass instead and taking her mostly empty one. “Okay, you feel better yet? Listen, just relax for a while. This is your night off and your only responsibility is to try not to get wasted on whatever is in this punch. If we see Jackson, we deal with it, but in the meantime, just hang out.”

So they did. Stiles broke off when Lydia came over to chat about Allison’s outfit and went to find Scott again. The whole time, no one else showed at the door. The house was empty and quiet except for the echo of music from the stereo near the yard.

Another twenty minutes, and Stiles dragged Scott out to find Allison, distracting him with kanima talk. “So we know it has something to do with water. All those people on the swim team, and how the kanima reacted to the pool. Hell, maybe it chose Jackson because he almost drowned after the bite? Or…maybe the bite made him almost drown?” Stiles twitched. “I’m not sure! But it’s all agua-based.”

“So, the killer hates the swim team?” Scott asked.

“Hated the swim team. Specifically the 2005 swim team. Could be a teacher, maybe a rival team? A student back then, maybe?” He sighed and looked around at the empty yard, seeing images from that yearbook instead of the twinkling string lights wrapped around the columns. “I mean, who are we missing?”

Allison’s appearance put the conversation to an end, her arrival striking Scott dumb. She came up and tapped her nails against her cup. “Uh, Jackson’s not here yet.”

Taking the opportunity to avoid awkward silence, Stiles nodded and looked around again. “Yeah, no one’s here.”

“Maybe they’re just late?” Scott suggested.

“Or maybe nobody’s coming, because Lydia’s turned into the town wack job.”

Allison turned to look over at the far corner of the yard, where Lydia was standing with a full platter and looking into space or something. “Well, we have to do something, because I’ve had to completely ignore her for the past two weeks.”

“She’s been completely ignoring Stiles for the past nine years,” Scott supplied, shrugging over at Stiles.

He scoffed, and took a nervous sip of his drink. “I prefer to think of it as not being on her radar yet, thank you. And besides, we’re cool now. I filled her in on pretty much everything, but she’s just taking some time to process it all.”

Scott ignored him. “We don’t owe her a party.”

Allison frowned at him. “Well, what about the chance to get back to normal?”

“Normal?” Scott asked.

“She wouldn’t be the town wack job if it wasn’t for us.”

She stared Scott down until he shoved his free hand into his pocket. “I guess I could use my co-captain status to get the lacrosse team here.”

Stiles nodded and reached for his phone. “Hey, I also know some people who can get this thing going.” He paused, wondering if it was such a good idea. “I mean… _really_ going.”

Screw it, Lydia deserved a decent birthday party after all the shit they’d put her through. While Scott made a few calls of his own, Stiles leaned against a pillar with Allison hovering at his side and opened up the number he’d had to copy off his own arm. It rang three times before a gravelly voice answered.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Uh, Kiki? It’s Stiles.”

Immediately, the voice went back to that molasses sweet hum from the club. “ _Oh, Stiles. What can I do for you, hun? Are you having trouble, or looking to make some?_ ”

Stiles chuckled at the flirty tone of voice. “Looking to make some, or maybe a lot. I need your help with this party.”

“ _Ooh, where’s it happening?_ ”

“See, that’s the problem, it’s kind of _not_. I was hoping you could bring some friends and liven it up a bit? Abigail, Alotta, and whoever else you wanna bring. Seriously, bring a bus if you want to.”

“ _You remembered us? How sweet._ ”

“How could I forget? Listen, this party, it’s a birthday party for a friend of mine. She’s had a pretty bad time of it—”

“ _Don’t worry about it, we’ll make sure it’s good. Just send me the address and make sure there’s enough to drink.”_

Allison was blinking at him in surprise as he hung up, another glass drained. “What was _that?_ ”

Stiles’s face flushed, and he headed for another one of the drink trays. Was this stuff everywhere? “So, you remember the night before we got Jackson in the van, when we chased him to _Jungle_?”

“Yeah?”

“I maybe…made some kind of impression on some people there?” He bit his lip. “I have no clue why, but they were kinda hovering like they wanted to be my fairy godparents. Pun intended. They told me to call if I wanted to make some trouble.”

* * *

Derek was hanging onto control by a thread. He knew he could deal with this, that the full moon shouldn’t be affecting him so badly, but his normal anchor wasn’t _working_. Ever since becoming an Alpha, trying to use anger as his anchor had only made it harder to keep his shift down. It riled him up, made him want to take it out on something.

Last month, he’d barely noticed. All his attention was on Isaac, then Stiles while he was panicking in the basement, then Isaac again. He’d just focused on his pack, and the moon had been an afterthought.

Now, he was sitting in the train as a mark of solidarity with the Betas, and while they howled and roared and shook the entire car, he bit back growls and curled into his seat. If he could just get a handle on himself, then he could start helping _them_.

What had worked the first moon? What had he been thinking of whenever it was hard to keep himself calm?

First it’d been the mantra, and that triskele Stiles’d drawn in the dust. But then…it’d shifted to Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. To their bonds with him.

Grimacing, Derek closed his eyes and focused on the cords stretching from his center of gravity. Counting over each one, he layered the tried and true mantra in his head. Alpha, Beta, Omega, then, to mark the last bond that belonged to someone who couldn’t be any of those, Pack. Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Stiles. Alpha, Beta, Omega, Pack. Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Stiles.

It was agony to keep his mind centered for the first few rounds, but then something began to slip, a silky layer of comfort and control that wound around him as he repeated the lines. As the creases in his forehead finally smoothed out, Derek slumped in his seat and began to mumble out loud.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega, Pack.”

The snarls surrounding him cut away for a moment, possibly in shock at his speaking, but he didn’t stop.

Isaac was the one most likely to find his control. It was his second moon, not first, and he’d had longer to search for an anchor of some kind. But he was barely there, whining and jangling his chains while his eyes stared around the room without seeing anything properly.

It took another dozen repetitions or so for Derek to really get control. Then, he heard one of the heartbeats next to him slowing down. It was Boyd’s. Turning to look at him, Derek made eye contact and slowed down the mantra, watching and hoping.

Finally, Boyd’s voice stopped wheezing and growling and began to form actual words around his fangs. “Alpha, Beta, Omega, Pack.”

* * *

Trouble arrived not twenty minutes later in a massive crowd that swarmed over Lydia’s front lawn. It was way more than just a few drag queens, like they’d emptied a club or two on the way over, pied piping their way to Lydia’s party. Almost thankfully, Allison wasn’t around when Kiki came to find him, fussing over his shirt and rubbing her palm over his head to call him a little hedgehog. She and Alotta were half drunk already, and Alotta sniffed appreciatively at Lydia’s punch.

“Little wild for a high school party, especially on a Sunday, don’t you think?” she asked.

Before Stiles could ask what that was supposed to mean, he spotted Scott across the pool, brooding almost as badly as he had the last time they went drinking. Flicking finger guns at Kiki and Alotta that made them snort, he made his way over, keeping a careful distance from the edge.

“Are you gonna apologize to Allison, or what?” he asked. He leaned up against another pillar and blinked down at Scott, his umpteenth cup of punch half empty and hanging from his fingers.

Scott just blinked back. “Why should I apologize?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Stiles actually laughed at that, then stopped when Scott didn’t laugh with him. “Dude, what the fuck? You sent her on a date with _another guy,_ with orders to _kiss him_. With _Matt_ of all people. Then you yelled at her for doing what you asked and for telling her parents something that they were gonna find out anyway, and that you’ve been arguing with us since the _beginning_ that we should have told them. You gotta know that’s fucked.”

“I’m not apologizing.”

Scoffing into his drink, Stiles looked up at the clear sky and the moon that hung there. “Is that the full moon talking, buddy?”

That got a reaction, at least. “Probably. Why do you care, anyway?”

“Because, Scott, something’s gotta go right here. I mean, we’re getting our asses royally kicked if you haven’t noticed. People are dying. I got my dad fired. You’re gonna be held back in school. Derek and the rest of the pack are in hiding at a nasty little train depot across town and Erica and Boyd have been officially marked as runways. If on top of all that I have to watch you ruin this thing with Allison and send her back to a stalker like Matt, I’m gonna stab myself in the face.”

Scott stood up, staring across the yard. “Don’t stab yourself in the face.”

“Why not?” Stiles griped.

“Because Jackson’s here.”

Why exactly it was okay for Jackson to show up at the party wearing plaid, but not for Stiles, Stiles didn’t know. What he did know, was that at least for the moment, the guy who was sniffing at a cup next to the punch fountain Lydia had set up was _actually_ Jackson.

“He’s drinking the punch. Good.”

Stiles spun around to face Lydia, now wearing a navy blue dress that made her hair glow. He turned to make a face at Scott for not noticing her arrival. How long had she been listening? What if she’d heard him about Derek’s place? That was the _one_ thing Derek said not to tell her.

But she wasn’t really paying attention to him, and had her eyes on Scott. In a moment, she’d shoved another glass in his hand. “Drink.”

As Scott opened his mouth to argue, Stiles put his cup down on a table, held his hands out, and began to step away. “I gotta—Scott, I gotta talk to him. I’ll be careful, but, I gotta.”

For once, the full moon callousness Scott exhibited worked in his favor, and Stiles didn’t get scolded for heading over to Jackson’s side.

“Hey—”

Immediately, Jackson’s hand grabbed at Stiles’ shirt and yanked him over near an emptier space between two groups of royally drunk dance circles. How was everyone else drunk, when Stiles’d been drinking punch all night? He felt fine, if a little loose.

“You wanna explain what the _fuck_ is going on Stilinski? One second I’m in the van, the next I’m at home. Then Scott’s attacking me in the locker room and we’re in the library, and then I’m home again! I’m missing _days_ right now.”

At least the fury directed at him was all Jackson. Stiles put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Hold up, days? Like, actual days?”

“It’s like I’m flickering in and out and it’s getting worse. Except…” Jackson paused. “Except when Lydia—”

Stiles slapped his other hand over Jackson’s mouth. “Don’t! Jackson, everything we say to you is being heard by the fuckface controlling you. If you want to keep people safe you can’t say _anything_. Look, we’re…” Stiles looked around. God, how was he supposed to give Jackson hope without getting himself killed? “We’re, uh, fuck.”

He wobbled a little as something in his stomach twisted. Letting go of Jackson, Stiles closed his eyes and swayed backward. “Woah, woozy.”

After a moment the dizziness faded and Stiles straightened up, but he’d lost Jackson’s attention. Actually, he’d lost Jackson entirely. The body standing in front of him was tense, furious, and robotic. It didn’t so much as look at Stiles as it jolted away toward the house.

Against all self-preservation, Stiles took a step forward to follow it, only for another wave of dizziness to send him backwards again and nearly knock him on his ass. As his tunnel vision cleared, he could hear a familiar voice shouting out.

“Why am I wearing black? What are you, an idiot? I just came from a _funeral_. You know, people wear black at funerals!”

Stiles looked over at the source of the noise to see a man standing next to the back door, shouting in a kid’s face and holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As he shoved the kid away and turned around, Stiles’ throat closed up.

His dad looked younger, hair a little more brown, but messy and unwashed. He was thin too, from too many nights forgetting to eat as he sat by a hospital bed. The long black tie that Stiles had watched his dad yank loose the moment they got home from the cemetery was dangling there around his neck. He was looking right at Stiles.

“It’s you. It’s all you,” he said, voice resigned and raspy. “You know, every day, I saw her lying in that hospital bed slowly dying…I thought, ‘How the hell am I supposed to raise this _stupid_ kid on my own?’ This hyperactive little _bastard_ who keeps _ruining_ my life.”

Stiles’ heart pounded in his ears, all the way to his fingertips, making them throb with the hard pulses of blood. His heart was working, and Stiles was sucking in air through his nose and mouth, but he couldn’t breathe. There was no oxygen to be found in his lungs.

This was a fucking nightmare. One Stiles had had a thousand times, watching his dad throw things around the house and down whole bottles every night. Every time he turned to Stiles, this was exactly what Stiles had feared would come out. And now it was happening.

Noah raised the bottle, unwilling to let it go so he could point. “It’s all you. It’s you, _Stiles_. You killed your mother. You hear me?” He stumbled a step forward.

“You killed her. And now you’re killing me.”

Jumping the bottle more firmly into his hand, Noah wound back and chucked it straight at Stiles’ head.

* * *

It was better once Boyd had calmed down, easier to deal with Erica and Isaac when he could focus on one of them at a time while Boyd had the other.

He should’ve realized. Control on a full moon didn’t come with age or time, it came with control the _rest_ of the month. Boyd had been the most level headed of the group since the day he was bitten. He was able to get what he needed from having a pack in a way that Erica and Isaac were still working out. He’d been lonely, isolated, and desperate, and a pack helped with that directly. Erica and Isaac’s fears and needs were different, controlling them rather than the other way around.

The rumble of an engine outside the depot made Derek jerk, but he didn’t smell or hear anything he would have expected. There was no tripping steps or frantic heartbeat of Stiles being an idiot and coming to visit anyway. But there also wasn’t the tang of metal and musk of leather from a group of hunters that’d finally found them.

This smell was sweet. The steps were gentle. The voice was one Derek had only heard a couple times, and always from a distance.

“Derek?”

What was Lydia Martin doing at the depot? She wasn’t even supposed to know where it was. If Stiles had told her…

Derek twisted to look at Boyd, who nodded shortly at him before going back to holding Erica’s wrist and muttering to her under her growls. Sure that Boyd could handle things, Derek went to the doorway and leaned out.

She was stood at the top step, not coming any further down. She wore a dress and heels, and looked like she should be at a party. But still…something was off.

“Derek, I need your help,” she said, watching him.

It didn’t sound quite right, not like the girl he’d heard speaking in the high school. But it was familiar all the same, the cadence of her voice lilting in a way that made him itch.

“What happened? Did Stiles send you?”

Lydia tilted her head and the corner of her mouth twitched like she was holding something back. “Something’s wrong with Stiles. He’s seeing things, freaking out. So is Scott and his little girlfriend. I need you to come with me, quick.”

Of course; Stiles wouldn’t have sent Lydia if it weren’t important. It could be something to do with the kanima, or maybe the Argents were finally making their move and they didn’t care if Allison was caught in the middle.

Derek growled, then turned back to his Betas. Boyd was still chained up, loose enough to reach the others, but not enough to get free. “I need to—”

“Go get Stiles!” Boyd said, an order of his own.

Nodding, Derek crossed the platform and ran up the steps, following Lydia out into the night. Her car was parked in front of the lot, but no one was in it, and Stiles’ Jeep was missing.

“Where are they?”

“Don’t worry, Derek,” Lydia said, and god, why did she sound so familiar? Even the way she moved toward him felt like deja-vu. “They’re out of the way, so we can have our little family reunion in private.”

Lydia smiled, and it clicked. No one Derek knew smiled like that, like they were just baring their teeth. No one’s eyes were that snarky and cold at the same time.

No one alive.

Derek took a step backward. “Peter.”

“Finally, nephew. I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me.” Peter in Lydia’s body took another step toward him and lifted up her fist, opening it to reveal a dark powder that she blew straight into his face.

* * *

Stiles jolted, covering his face with his arms and falling backward to the ground. But nothing hit. Nothing shattered on the stone beside him. Gasping, Stiles looked toward his dad.

He was gone.

Scrambling up to his feet, Stiles turned in a circle. People were dancing and drinking and no one was staring like they’d been before. Hadn’t they seen him?

“Stiles, you little shit!”

Stiles whirled. There he was again, at the back of the yard this time, shoving his way through the back gate and carrying another bottle. He wasn’t in a suit anymore, just jeans and a ratty t-shirt. There was a gun on his hip. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay in your room?”

Like he’d never managed to do in his dreams, Stiles bolted. He dove into the crowd of people and tried to get lost in them. Still, the voice came louder and closer. “You think I didn’t notice the missing gin, Stiles? If you poured it out again, I’m gonna—”

Stiles got into the house and for a brief second, things were quiet again. A curly head strutted past one hall, and Stiles reached for it, stumbling around the corner.

“Kiki!” he shouted, too loud for the quiet.

“Stiles!” came another drunken shout from somewhere else in the house.

He grabbed at Kiki’s hand. “The punch, what were you saying about the punch? I—” he jerked at the resounding crash of a bottle hitting a wall. That part was a vivid memory, not a dream.

Kiki frowned down at him and held his chin up. “Stiles, honey, did your friend not tell you there was morning glory in it? It’s a hallucinogenic, sweetie. Are you having a bad trip?”

“I—I—” Stiles stopped and stared as an outline appeared at the end of the hall in a doorway. “Dad, I—”

Hands shoved at Stiles, pulling him away from his dad’s outline and dragging him toward a bench against the wall.

“Stiles, listen to me. Are you listening?” Kiki held his face still, holding her hands at the sides of his eyes like horse blinders so all he could see were the sharply drawn contours on her cheekbones and the smudge of mascara just under her left eye. “Do you have an anxiety disorder?”

The only response Stiles could give was to begin hyperventilating, and Kiki nodded. “Stiles, it’s just a bad trip. Your anxiety makes this stuff dangerous. It’s just a trip, it’s not real. He’s not real. Breathe for me.”

“I—Scott. Where’s Scott?” Stiles panted. He flinched again at another crash above him, but it was fainter than before.

Kiki rose from her kneeled position and sat next to him, brushing her hand over his head again and pulling him against her chest. “We’ll find him for you once you calm down.”

“A—Allison. L—Lydia.”

“We’ll find them all, you need to breathe though.”

She spoke over his head and one of the other people standing nearby disappeared for a few minutes. When they returned, it was with a real glass cup, filled with ice water. He gulped it down at Kiki’s instruction and closed his eyes, jerking and shaking at the phantom sounds of glass, shouting, and slamming doors.

Finally, it stopped. The dizziness hadn’t come back for a few minutes, and Stiles could think clearly again. He used both shaky hands to pick up the borrowed glass and looked down and around at the little group of drag queens and crooning women that’d gathered to keep him company.

“Uh…I—I’m okay now.”

The group slowly dissipated, leaving just Kiki and Alotta behind. Kiki’s face was all business as she held Stiles’ wrists to keep him from getting up.

“Stiles, I told you you could call me if you were in trouble. Remember?”

Stiles frowned. “Uh, yeah. I—thanks.”

“If you need to get out of the house, text me,” Kiki said.

For a second, Stiles just blinked at her, not sure what the big deal was about him going out to party with her. Then, he nearly dropped his glass. “No! No, it’s—no, I’m—I’m fine. It’s—we’re fine. He’s fine. It’s _all_ fine.”

After his mother’s death, his dad had gone on a bender or six, but he’d never _hurt_ Stiles. Yelled incoherently, threw things across the room, sent Stiles to his room whenever he was sober enough to realize why Stiles was pressed into a corner of the wall and staring at him, yes. But it was Stiles’ imagination that did the rest.

Alotta hummed dubiously at him, and Stiles jolted to his feet. “I’m serious. We’re fine. That was…he never really—it was ages ago. He’s—better. It’s better. It’s good. I gotta go, I’ll call you. Thank you.”

He retreated, setting his glass in the corner of a side table in the hopes that it wouldn’t be shattered. The backyard was still full of people fumbling around and dancing and staring at the lights. They weren’t drunk, they were tripping balls.

Lydia had drugged them all.

“Scott!” he shouted, moving up the stairs. “Allison!” Scott had a good chance of being immune, but Allison couldn’t be doing well. He could only hope she’d found a room to hole up in.

Instead, he found Scott shivering on the stairs, hands covering his eyes as he rocked back and forth. So much for immunity.

“Scott?” Stiles muttered. He dropped down next to him. “Scotty, hey, I’m here. Listen to me, it’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.” He pulled at Scott’s wrists, and after a second they came away from his face to reveal glowing yellow eyes and fangs.

Stiles shoved Scott’s hands back up. “Okay, okay, just calm down. Shit, I didn’t think to bring more water.”

But Scott came down much faster than Stiles had, blinking around like the morning glory had just phased out of his system. “What happened? What was that?”

“Lydia,” Stiles said. “She drugged the punch with morning glory. Apparently it’s a hallucinogenic.”

Scott frowned, and Stiles reworded, “It makes you see things, Scott. Like magic mushrooms. Where is Allison?”

Scott’s head jerked toward the window seat down the hall from them, but it was empty. “Uh, I don’t know. I came looking for her, or Lydia. I don’t think she’s here anymore.”

Standing, Stiles pulled Scott up by his elbow. “Okay, come on, let’s check the back one more time. Then we are getting _out_ of here.”

The yard was a mess of cups and people sprawled on the ground. Others were jumping into the pool fully clothed with loud shouts. Stiles groaned at the distinct lack of a strawberry blonde in a blue dress. He’d slid his hand into his pocket to grab for his phone when a shout of fear joined in with all the laughter.

A little horde of cackling people went up to the side of the pool, while someone in their midst cried out, “I can’t swim! Stop! I can’t swim!”

With a few more whoops of joy, a body was thrown into the pool. The splash hit all the people that’d thrown him, and the guy in the water began to flail.

“I—I can’t—Help me!”

But Stiles couldn’t move. They’d been looking and looking and they couldn’t see what was missing. And he couldn’t swim.

Beside him, Scott didn’t move either. They just stared as a head and a hand made their way above the water for a moment at a time before sinking again. Then someone shoved past Stiles and knelt down at the pool, reaching in and grabbing a wet arm to drag him up onto the ground.

It was Matt. Next to him, was Jackson. But no, _not_ Jackson. That was _not_ Jackson, the same robotic body that’d run away from Stiles earlier. It was the kanima.

Matt was soaked, streaming water from his everything and seething at the people around them. Those not so high they couldn’t see reason had quieted at the seriousness of the situation. Matt had almost drowned. After a second, he coughed hard and barked, “What are you looking at?”

He stepped forward, glaring at anyone who jerked away from him. Then, he froze and made eye contact with Stiles. Snarling wetly, he shoved between Stiles and Scott with Jackson right behind him, and they disappeared into the house in the direction of the front door.

A moment later, police sirens could be heard down the street, and someone somewhere shouted, “Police are here! Party’s over!”

Everyone scattered at once, making it impossible to follow Matt out of the building. Stiles grabbed at Scott and they ran around the back through the alley to avoid the officers coming into the lot.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Scott asked, peeking around a bush.

Stiles scanned the front lawn. “If you’re thinking that Matt is the kanima master, like I _fucking_ told you and that he’s got complete control of Jackson now, and that he _knows_ we know, then yeah. We’re on the same wavelength.”

“ _Stiles_.”

Scott nudged him and pointed across the street, past all the scurrying teenagers and the flashing lights. Matt was standing in a dripping striped shirt at the tree line, watching them. Down at his feet, the kanima was crouching, its tail curling around the legs next to it protectively.

Suddenly, a group of people rushed past their hiding spot, obscuring the view. When they left again, the space where Matt and the kanima had stood was empty.

“Oh _fuck_.”

* * *

A sharp splinter slicing into Derek’s back through his shirt was the first thing he felt as the cotton in his head lifted enough for him to return to consciousness. Then came the knock of a wedge of wood smacking into the back of his neck as he was dragged over something.

“Lydia?”

A quiet tutting above him shook back a little more of his mind.

“Peter.”

“Much better,” came the answer.

There was a small hand on Derek’s wrist, dragging him slowly but surely over what felt like a floor. When Derek squinted his eyes open, there was no sky above him. Just a burned, blackened ceiling.

Words were hard to think and harder to get out. “Don’t.”

“After all the effort I’ve put in? Do you know how long it took me to come up with this, to stack my dominos just right?”

“H—how?”

The girl above him dropped his hand, then knelt at his head and grabbed the other, dragging it down so that a board dug into his skin. He could smell something dead nearby. His wrist was twisted and bent, forced into the grip of something he didn’t want to think about.

Lydia’s face smiled down at him, haloed in moonlight through a hole in the ceiling. “Oh, a little memory transfer here, some memorized chants in Archaic Latin there. Turns out Ms. Martin is a knowledge seeker after my own heart. But most importantly, dear nephew,” she whispered, leaning down, “imagination.”

Then her head was gone and the full moon burned Derek’s eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut and listen to a rhythmic chant that made his head go even fuzzier.

Throughout his life, Derek had found that pain, more than anything, brought clarity. Now was no different, and when sharp claws dug into his wrist, puncturing the skin and pulling something from much deeper inside of him than it should have, the cotton disappeared. Derek’s eyes flew open, and he gasped at the _tug_ and _yank_ from inside him that made everything go dull. His hearing was fractioned, the scents around him dwindled to just dirt and ash, and when he tried to shift, nothing happened.

Beside him, something _was_ happening. Faintly, he could hear things cracking, though he couldn’t identify what. Then came a quiet little wheeze, and suddenly the boards next to his head exploded upwards. Derek yanked away and rolled to the side, knocking into Lydia’s knees where she’d frozen while kneeling. There was no hint of Peter in her now, just terror.

“A few months dead,” rasped a voice from the mound that’d burst out of the floor, “and suddenly no one looks happy to see me.”

Peter crawled out of his grave and looked around, grabbing at a tattered drape to wrap around his grimy waist. “Such messy business, dying. It’s why I like backup plans. I’ve always told you how important backup plans are, Derek.”

Derek felt weak as a kitten, and he could barely manage to rise up onto his elbows and look at his undead uncle. Lydia was crying now, sobs that Derek could only hear the most prominent cries of. Where was her heartbeat? Where was the hiccuped breath that layered under all tears?

Tutting in his own voice now, Peter stepped around Derek’s back and knelt at Lydia’s side. “You have some things of mine, dear Lydia. I’d like them back now.”

Lydia shouted and arched her back as Peter’s claws dug into the nape of her neck. His eyes only fizzled blue for a second, and then he retracted his claws and Lydia fell to the ground. Derek couldn’t tell if she was unconscious or not. Why couldn’t he tell?

“Not quite up to my full strength, but that’s to be expected,” Peter muttered. Then, he looked over at Derek. “Don’t worry, it’s only temporary. I just needed to borrow your Spark for a moment. But, for now, you should probably not move.”

As if Derek could. The clarity from before was fading fast, along with his ability to keep his eyes open and his body propped up. Gasping, he thudded back down to the floor. When his eyes fluttered closed, he didn’t have the strength to open them again.

“Just rest, Derek. You’ll feel better when you wake up. Probably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes (there's a lot, my B):  
> So, Lydia's birthday literally _cannot_ be on the 'worm moon.' The Worm Moon is the full moon that occurs in March. We're _well past that_. It's like mid-April at this point, and I don't even mean because of my fuckin' timeline. There've _literally_ already been three full moons in the new year. It _cannot_ be March. Sorry Lyds, but I had to move your b-day.  
> One of the things that hurt me _so bad _in this show was the complete lack of werewolf history/traditions. I just find it impossible to believe that after _millenia_ of full moons, werewolves didn't have some kind of rule/conversation that was tradition to give unanchored wolves about getting chained up. That they didn't have full moon runs or get-togethers. The show gave us nothing, so I tried to add in a bit of background stuff.  
> Also, I was so excited to work on the drag queens and sort of...make them real people instead of rude caricatures like they were in the rave episode, and it was really fun to bring Kiki back!  
> OH, and I'm really sick of wolfsbane getting used for _everything_ so I changed it. Morning glory IS a hallucinogenic, AND it's the plant they ACTUALLY used as a stand-in for wolfsbane in the show. Every time Lydia has one of those lil flowers? Morning glory. Wolfsbane is HIGHLY poisonous and impossible to use for the show.  
> While I can and do see that Stiles' hallucinations give us a really bad viewpoint of his dad, it never really struck very accurately to me? I've never seen anything in the show (besides this) to even _hint_ at Stiles being afraid of his dad being physically abusive to him (if he was, you'd think he and Isaac would've bonded over it?)  
> BUT we do know that Stiles has really intense anxiety, and anxiety can make your brain do some really awful things. To me, it's entirely likely that Stiles' dad never hurt him, but that he was still _afraid_ of it, because we _know_ that his mom hurt him as well. It makes sense that he would fear it from his dad, and that if they're all hallucinating about their worst nightmares, then he'd see the fear of his dad finally getting physically abusive. But yeah, just my two cents on the matter.  
> ALSO. PLEASE, GOD. IF YOU HAVE AN ANXIETY DISORDER, DO _NOT_ TAKE HALLUCINOGENICS. THEY HAVE A VERY HIGH CHANCE OF GIVING YOU THE WORST FUCKING TRIP POSSIBLE. PLEASE DON'T TEMPT FATE.  
> Yeah, I played with the whole Peter Possession thing. I thought the show had something really interesting as a baseline (except for all the rapeyness) but it didn't quite _commit_ and that sucked because we've seen so many characters flipping switches on their personalities (Stiles as nogitsune, Derek when he goes all arsony, even Scott getting dead-eyed and creepy on full moons) and I would've loved to see Holland's take on Peter. Plus, I hated that she got all the fucking way into the depot and up to the traincar without getting noticed, and that it was implied she dragged Derek away up the stairs without anyone in the traincar noticing. (We've _seen_ that Scott can destroy chains when he's pissed, and that the Betas broke their own chains just a few minutes earlier. They would've broken out if their fucking Alpha was getting drugged and taken away.)  
> OH, and I fucking hated that Isaac was the one to find control. That boy is so fucking traumatized, and the idea that his dad "Wasn't always" abusive, and that he therefore had enough good memories of him to use as an anchor, frustrated me. Of course, it's _possible_ but in the very next episode we hear from Matt that he was _nine_ when he got drowned and Lahey threatened him. I sincerely doubt that he was a decent guy at _any_ point in time.  
> Also, Boyd is my man, and he's the softest, most sensible man fucking ever. So he's the one who finds his anchor. XP Bite me.  
> Oh, and I changed up the ritual to bring Peter back. That weird reflecting moonlight thing was just way too "The Mummy" for my taste (though I fucking love that movie). And I made Peter cover up his junk....yeah. Really didn't like that with Lydia in the room.__
> 
> __Sorry for the massive notes, I just made a lot of changes in this episode (and then fucked up some of it and had to go back and fix it like a week before I started posting S2) that I wanted to share. I tried to put lil hints in before this, bits of foreshadowing with how the Betas can't hear past the outside door of the depot, etc. It's good fun._   
>  _


	11. Episode 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be posting so late in the day, I'm exhausted and I needed to reread the chapter one last time to fix last-minute things. But here you go! It's very Derek-heavy, so I hope you enjoy.

“So, this kid’s the real killer?”

Noah peered down at Stiles’ copy of his own yearbook from freshman year. There were a couple little devil horns drawn on Matt’s forehead, but other than that it was a clear picture of him. He was even wearing the same hooded leather jacket.

Stiles didn’t answer right away, busy scanning his dad’s body. Heavier, a little more grey, less tense, and his hands were blessedly empty. It felt like every ten seconds he needed to check again, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. “Uh, yeah. This is our mastermind.”

“But how?” His dad pointed at Matt’s picture, tapping the glossy paper with a finger. “He had to be, what, nine? Nine or ten when that swim team was together?”

Scott shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. But we know it’s him. Jackson pulled him out of the pool, and we _saw_ him with the kanima. He’s our guy.”

Huffing, Noah ran his hands through his hair. “Okay, okay, but I can’t just walk into the station and tell them our serial killer is a sixteen-year-old boy. I need means, motive, proof of some kind. We’ve—they’ve already got Harris in custody. Our other info wasn’t enough for them to drop the charges.”

“Exactly!” Stiles said. He shoved his chair back and stood up. “Matt must’ve taken Harris’ car knowing that if he was connected to enough of the murder scenes he’d be the one everyone suspected. It’s all just a massive red herring!”

“I still need a motive, Stiles,” his dad sighed.

But that was the one thing missing. So many pieces had come together, but not that. “I—don’t actually have that yet. But look, we know the kanima is all about murderers, and if it was Matt talking through Jackson at the rave, then he thinks everyone he’s killing is a murderer too. He said something about—” Stiles scrunched his face up in confusion, “about them killing him first. That he was the one they’d killed so he was just—evening it out? It doesn’t make sense, but it’s _there_. We just need to look at the evidence again.”

“That would be at the station,” Noah said, gesturing shortly out the window. “Where I no longer _work_.”

“Dad, trust me, they’ll let you in,” Stiles scoffed. “The only person who doesn’t want you at that station is Jackson’s dad. Mickey told me himself he doesn’t want to be doing your job.”

They took his dad’s car, the shitty gold Cougar that he only drove when he was off duty, which was almost never. They mostly just used it to get groceries. It always smelled like dust and stale water from the abandoned water bottles in the footwell of the passenger seat. 

Usually by this point, Stiles would be drained. As unused as the car was, it rolled smoothly down the road and there were little sparks of memory from sleeping during a drive home, his cheek balanced on the seatbelt.

But not tonight. Tonight, energy buzzed under Stiles’ skin. This was it. They were going to get proof, they were going to figure everything out and he’d have solved it. His dad would get his job back and the killing would stop and everything would be okay.

As they came in the door, the officer running the overnight desk looked up, and Stiles smiled. It was the same officer that’d taken his statement outside the mechanic’s. Pointing finger guns around his dad’s side, he said, “Officer Grant!”

She nodded at him, but kept her eyes on his dad. “Uh, Sheriff—I mean, Mr. Stilinski. It’s two in the morning. Can I help you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t incredibly important,” Noah assured her, leaning on the desk. “I’m gonna need into my—the office.”

For this, Stiles kept his mouth shut and waited at Scott’s side, squeezing at his own wrist until there were little half moon indents in his skin from his nails. Officer Grant hesitated, looking around, then down at her desk. Finally, she said, “I suppose if you’ve forgotten something in the office, it would be perfectly reasonable for me to let you go in and get it.”

With a shy hand, she held out the keys to the room.

Stiles’ dad gave her a nod, but Stiles threw her a double thumbs up as he followed behind. Talk about earning brownie points, Stiles might bring _her_ chocolate.

As soon as they’d gotten in the room, Stiles asked, “How did you know the evidence was in here? Shouldn’t it be in holding, or with Mickey?”

“Because I left it here when I cleared out, and how long do you think it was going to take someone to bother to grab it all?” Noah responded, gesturing to the heavy looking box topped with more folders and pictures and freshly printed faxes.

That was probably a good point. Paperwork was universally loathed in the station and there were never enough people to do it. Filing the evidence for prosecuting Harris would’ve been left to the last minute. Nodding in understanding, Stiles turned to Scott. “We look at the stuff from the hospital first.”

“Why?”

“Because all the murders were committed by Jackson except one, remember?”

Scott nodded. “The pregnant girl, Jessica.”

Stiles’ dad held out a folder to each of them. “Get looking then.”

Half an hour later, Stiles threw down his paperwork. “This isn’t working. We need evidence that Matt was at the hospital. It’s the only place we can be positive he was at. Aren’t there guest check-in sheets or something?”

Stiles’ dad snorted. “Yeah, about fifty of them. There was a six car pile-up that night, Stiles. The place was packed.”

“But if there were so many people,” Scott asked, “why didn’t anyone see him?”

As far as Stiles could tell, having so many visitors would only make it harder to point out one random teenager. Unless…

“Oh! Oh, duh.” he jumped to his feet. “Dad, you have access to their security cameras, right? Can we look at the video from that night?”

Noah shook his head. “Stiles, do you have any idea how many cameras there are in that hospital?”

“We don’t need to check them all! Just the ones that Matt would’ve had to pass to get to Jessica.”

His dad pulled the keyboard of his computer close and starting typing and clicking, muttering, “You are so lucky they haven’t deactivated my passwords yet.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, well, we figure this out and they won’t _have_ to deactivate your passwords.”

As his dad got signed in, Stiles glanced around the room. It looked so empty and impersonal without all his dad’s stuff. The blinds on the window were shut tight, and the board on the wall where his dad usually taped up thoughts and connections for cases was bare for the first time in years. Even the blanket and pillow he kept for nights when he had to catnap in the office were gone, the green, cashmere-soft throw no longer covering the back of the tan couch.

“Here, there are six cameras on Jessica’s floor that he might’ve passed. Now, we just have to watch the feed from each of them around the time of her death,” Noah said.

Stiles settled behind his dad’s chair, while Scott sat on a free corner of the desk, and they watched.

Halfway through the fourth feed, Scott frowned. “I’m not seeing him, Stiles.”

“No, he has to be here. _One_ of these cameras had to have caught him. We only need like one frame of him to prove he was there.” 

Scott jerked forward and pointed at the screen. “There! Pause. Go back a little.”

“That’s him!” Stiles cheered. “That’s Matt.”

His dad squinted at the grainy screen. “Stiles, that’s the back of someone’s head.”

“It’s the back of Matt’s head! I sat behind him in history last semester. He’s got a very distinctive cranium, it’s weird.” Stiles grimaced at the memory of being stuck behind Matt’s creepy vibes every day.

“Stiles.”

Deflating, Stiles sighed. “Alright, fine. Just—look at his jacket. He’s worn the same thing for like three years. How many people do you know that wear black leather jackets?”

Even Scott stared at him for that one.

“Millions. Literally,” his dad said. “Including Derek Hale.”

Stiles glared at his dad’s raised eyebrows. “Don’t even go there, and how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling him that?”

His dad made a face. “That’s his name, Stiles. Would you prefer I called him your ‘Alpha?’”

Stiles pointed a finger, inches away from his dad’s nose. “Not funny.” Nevermind that he was trying not to crack a smile.

“Okay,” Scott interrupted. “Can we just scroll forward? There’s gotta be a shot of him coming _at_ one of the cameras.”

Grimacing, Noah flicked to a different camera. “If he was headed down that hall, this is the next place he’d—”

“There, there he is again!”

The black and white camera couldn’t disguise Matt’s jacket as he walked over toward the elevators.

“You mean, there’s the back of his head again.”

Stiles groaned. “Okay, but look. He’s talking to someone.”

Scott leaned forward. “He’s talking to my mom.” He pulled out his phone while Stiles whooped. “That’s so creepy. I can’t believe Matt talked to my mom right after he killed someone. She just got off work, I’ll call her. Uh,” he looked from his phone to Noah. “Can you give her a reason for me to be here? I’m still grounded, and I was supposed to call her like three hours ago.”

Noah held out his hand for Scott’s phone, then pressed it to his ear just as it started to ring.

“Melissa, it’s me. Listen, I needed to borrow Scott for something, okay? He’s helping me with a case, and we have a question or two to ask you.” With a quick tap, he had her on speakerphone.

“ _Uh, shoot, I guess._ ”

Leaning into the phone, Scott asked, “The night that girl was killed, Jessica? Do you remember seeing a guy in a leather jacket in the hall? We can see you talking to him on the security tapes.”

“ _Scott, you know how many people I deal with in a day?_ ”

“This one’s sixteen. He’s got dark hair…he looks like a normal teenager,” Scott explained.

Unable to help himself, Stiles tipped forward a little. “Yeah, he looks _evil_.”

“ _I already talked to the police about this._ ”

Scott took the phone back and leaned it over the yearbook they had opened to Matt’s face. “I’m gonna take a picture and send it to you.” Tapping for a second, he asked, “Did you get it?”

“ _Yeah._ ”

“Do you recognize him? Did you talk to him?”

“ _Uh, yeah, I did. I mean, I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall. Scott, what is going on?_ ”

Scott turned the speaker off and held the phone to his head. “It’s nothing, I’ll explain later. I gotta go, okay? Yeah, I’ll be home soon.”

Meanwhile, Stiles’ dad was sifting through another folder he’d pulled from the box. “We’ve got shoeprints alongside the tire tracks at the trailer site.”

“And if they match, that puts Matt at the scene of three murders. The trailer, the hospital, and the rave,” Stiles said.

“Actually four,” his dad said. “A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed.”

Scott frowned. “When?”

Noah tipped his head at Stiles. “A couple hours before you got there.”

The puzzle in Stiles’ head was only missing a few more pieces, but it was enough to get a full picture. “Alright, dad, if one’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, and three’s a pattern, what’s four?”

“Four’s enough for a warrant.”

There were angel choirs singing in Stiles’ head as he did a low fist pump in bliss. Yes, yes-yes-yes. Everything was looking up. So far up. Hallelujah.

“Scott, call your mom back. See how quick she can get here. If I can get an official I.D., I can get a search warrant.” Noah turned to Stiles. “Go to the front desk, tell her to let Scott’s mom in when she gets here.”

“On it!” Stiles nearly ran out of the office and down the hall. “Yo, Grant—”

But the desk was empty. Slowing, Stiles took a step forward, peering into the office behind it. “Hello?”

As he got close to the desk, a couple papers on the floor caught his attention. Then the dead body caught it more. Officer Grant was flat on her back, massive claw marks raked down through the front of her uniform, ending at her belt. The holster attached to that belt was empty.

Taking a little step backwards, Stiles twisted to shout for Scott, but his voice died in his throat when he turned to stare down the barrel of a gun. At the other end, Matt shrugged at him, eyes wet, then lifted the gun to point at Stiles’ forehead instead.

* * *

Derek’s wakeup wasn’t gentle. He spasmed back to consciousness, his hands slamming up to his ears in an attempt to block out the piercing shriek that was sure to make them start bleeding. Only once they’d stopped ringing was he able to actually open his eyes. He was still in the house, the moon lighting up the room a little less than before, now that the angle was too far off for it to shine right through the broken ceiling.

It was enough to see the fresh hole in the floor beside him and Deaton crouching a few feet away.

“What—That sound. What was that?” Derek groaned.

Deaton’s face split into a smug smile as he held up a dog whistle. Slowly, very slowly, Derek was compiling a nice little list of reasons to hate this man.

Huffing, he shoved his way to his feet, only for the room to start spinning. Hands caught him around the waist, and Derek nearly tripped on his ass as he stumbled away from them.

“You’re going to be weak for several hours,” Deaton said, though he didn’t sound particularly sympathetic.

Derek tried not to lose his balance again as he looked around the room. It was all the way he remembered, dust everywhere and Peter’s body missing. Oh god, Peter was alive. He was back from the _dead_. “That actually happened,” he breathed.

He looked down at his arm to see a ring of claw jabs around his forearm, still oozing blood. Why wasn’t he healed? The rest of his senses had come back, enough for him to be able to smell Lydia’s fear, and the fact that she’d run out the back of the house a while ago. So why wasn’t he healing?

“Don’t worry, you’re still an Alpha.”

Derek stared hard at Deaton. He didn’t know what this guys’ deal was, but if mind-reading was on the table, he might have to rip a throat out. And, there was the full moon affecting him again.

“But, as usual, not a particularly competent one,” Deaton added, hanging the dog whistle around his neck. Derek kind of wanted to yank on it.

“Where is he?” Derek asked. He could smell _something_ , but it wasn’t quite like Peter’s scent. There was an acrid tinge to it that didn’t used to be there.

Deaton was back to his usual poker face. “I wish I could tell you.”

Snarling, Derek stepped forward. “Then how about you tell me what you’re doing here? How did you even know what happened?”

The small scowl on Deaton’s face was almost satisfying, finally a crack in his stupid stoic mentor image. “Knowing what is going on in this town, _especially_ with your family, used to be a big part of my life, Derek Hale. I’m simply fulfilling a promise I made to your mother, however unwise it may be.”

That didn’t answer the question, but it did pose another. “You—you’re the one my sister talked about. She said you’re a kind of…advisor?”

Laura hadn’t said it kindly. Rather, she’d spat it into the air like she wanted nothing more than to find him and rip him limb from limb. The slight bit of information was always followed by her cursing the rest of the supernatural world, shouting that they couldn’t trust anyone, not even other werewolves.

“ _Because where are they, Derek? These so-called allies of the Hale pack, this advisor Mom trusted more than anyone? They’re fucking nowhere, and we’re in this stupid apartment, on the run. You can’t even go to school, Derek. You’re supposed to be in college right now, on a real campus. Not hiding here and taking classes online.”_

“She was right,” Deaton said, jolting Derek from his memory. “And I have some advice that you need to listen to very closely, right now. What Peter managed to do doesn’t come without a price. He’ll be physically weak, so he’ll rely on the strength of his intelligence, his cunning. He’s gonna come at you, Derek. He’ll try to twist his way inside your head, preying on your insecurities. He’ll tell you that he’s the only way you can stop Gerard. Do not trust him.”

Derek didn’t bother holding back a smirk. “I would never trust Peter.”

“Well, unfortunately the one person you _should_ trust, doesn’t trust you at all.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Derek’s first thoughts ran to Stiles. He’d been keeping him at claws length since the beginning, but so far, even after all the opportunities he’d had to expose Derek or betray him, he still hadn’t. He’d been nothing but useful to Derek’s entire pack, but Derek still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another shoe waiting to drop.

But, despite that, Stiles _did_ trust Derek. That was one of the most infuriating parts of it all. So who was Deaton talking about?

He squinted. “Scott?”

“If you were anywhere near as good of an Alpha as you seem to think you are, he would’ve been part of your pack from the beginning, Derek.”

Derek bristled. “All that matters is that he’s part of my pack _now_.”

“Is he really?” Deaton stepped forward, glaring. “Are you sure about that?”

For a second, Derek froze. How could he _possibly_ know that the bond was missing?

“Talia Hale would never have let one of her Betas spend a full moon alone. Especially not while there are hunters looking for him,” Deaton scolded.

Derek wanted to be furious. A good portion of him _was_ furious. How dare Deaton say his mother’s name? How dare he try to use her against him? But, at the same time, something inside him began to twist. Then _yank_ , not unlike what it’d felt like when Peter was coming back to life just a little while before.

Doubling over, Derek stumbled to the stairs and leaned against the bannister, holding a hand to his stomach. It was as though someone had gotten a hand on one of the bonds connected to him, wrapped it around their knuckles, and wrenched at it. Derek nearly puked at the sensation of something tugging away from him, stretching the bond almost to a breaking point.

A vague, misty part of his head said that he knew what had to be happening, and that he’d felt it before. Laura had mentioned it once, how she’d known the moment their mother died, not just because of the rush of power, but the agony that’d started up. She’d become the Alpha in time to feel bonds snapping all around her as family members died and to receive the terror pouring from Derek himself. She’d said it was its own form of hell, the way the bond reacted when a pack member experienced the most extreme fear possible.

When it’d happened at the pool, right as they fell in and Stiles had to drag them back up to the surface, it only lasted a couple seconds. He’d assumed it was a side-effect of the venom or something.

Derek understood now, and he gritted his teeth against the twisting pain, trying to identify _whose_ bond was freaking out. It didn’t take long to recognize the braided piano wire of Stiles’ bond. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd’s bonds were still thrumming quietly, but Stiles’ was practically begging for help. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

Deaton’s voice behind Derek as he bolted from the house was inconsequential. So was the thought of going back to the depot to get his car. Derek just ran, jumping fences and skidding around corners on his way to the last place he knew Stiles could be.

Lydia Martin’s house was close to the edge of town, and it didn’t take long to get there at full speed. But it was silent, the windows dark and the backyard full of shadows, even while the entire lot stank of people and herbs. Lydia, or rather, Peter, had said they were here. He’d said they were freaking out and hallucinating, but now the near mansion of a building looked practically abandoned.

He had no phone, no way to find Stiles or Scott, because Derek wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking Stiles was getting into trouble _without_ Scott, and the pain and ripping at his bond wasn’t getting any better. Desperate, Derek ran for the station. He’d memorized the sheriff’s schedule as soon as Stiles had texted it to him, to make his and Isaac’s visits easier. The sheriff didn’t have to like him to help him find Stiles.

The distinct atmosphere of _wrong_ stopped Derek in his tracks just outside the building. For one, there was a car parked out front, an unfamiliar gold Cougar that somehow had Stiles, Scott, and the sheriff’s scents surrounding it. For another, though the lights were on, all the windows had their blinds down. If Stiles and Scott were in the sheriff’s station, what could possibly be happening that had Stiles so scared?

“ _I’ll just get my dad and we’ll go, you know? You continue on the whole vengeance thing, enjoy the kanima._ ” Stiles’ voice filtered through a wall toward Derek. 

Derek snarled and took a step forward reflexively. Whoever the kanima master was, they were here, and they had Stiles’ dad.

This time Derek knew what the little bit of pressure on the back of his neck meant, and there was no one to catch him when he collapsed face first into the concrete. The back of his shirt was lifted, stretching almost to the point of tearing, until Derek’s face at least was off the ground, and then he was being dragged for the second time that night. He almost preferred the Peter/Lydia combination more.

There was nothing to do but listen as he was pulled into the front door of the building toward the hall to the sheriff’s office.

_“If you don’t move, now, I’m gonna kill Stiles first, and then your mom.”_

How many people had gotten lured here?

He didn’t hold back his huff of exasperation when a half-shifted Jackson pulled him to his feet and propped him up like a puppet, keeping just the barest grip on the back of his neck so he didn’t fall forward into the door that Stiles, Scott, and someone else were gathering behind. He was part of a presentation, then.

 _“Open it,”_ the stranger said.

Scott’s voice was measured, but Derek could smell his fear. _“Please.”_

Why couldn’t he tell that it was Derek on the other side of the wood?

_“Open. The. Door.”_

The door swung out from Scott toward Derek, and the moment Stiles came into view, the wrenching in Derek’s guts disappeared.

Even Scott looked relieved to see him as his jaw dropped. “Oh thank _god_.”

Derek was slightly grateful when the push Jackson gave him tipped him around enough to land on his back instead of his front. His teeth clacked together as he hit the laminated floor. Finally, the real monster they’d been looking for the entire month appeared, bending over to look at him from above.

It was a _kid_. A fucking teenager had forced Jackson to murder five people _at least_ , and had killed another himself. What the fuck was wrong with Beacon Hills?

“This is the one controlling him?” he asked, ignoring the discomfort in his nearly numb throat. “This kid?”

“Well, Derek, not everyone’s lucky enough to be a big bad werewolf,” the kid said. There was just the slightest slip in his pronunciation, making the last word come out “werewoof” instead. It only made things worse. A sixteen-year-old serial killer. _Fuck_.

But the kid was straightening up, grinning around the room. “Oh, yeah, that’s—that’s right. I’ve learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, kanimas. It’s like a frickin’ Halloween party every full moon.”

He lifted a hand a little bit, and Derek finally noticed the gun in it. “Except for you, Stiles. Just because I couldn’t make Jackson kill you before doesn’t mean you’re not one of these freaks. What do you turn into?”

The angle Derek’s head was at, he couldn’t actually see Stiles, just Scott’s head and most of the kanima master’s upper body. Stiles was too far back in the room.

Considering the terror he’d been projecting earlier, which for some reason still hadn’t come back even though Derek was useless, Stiles’ voice was smooth and sarcastic. “Abominable snowman. But, uh, it’s more of like a wintertime thing. You know, seasonal.”

Scott’s head ducked out of view for a second, then Jackson hissed, and suddenly Stiles was falling onto Derek’s chest with a breathless, fumbled, “Bitch.”

He was a completely dead weight.

Normally, Stiles would be featherlight to Derek. He was twig that probably had hollow bones to boot. But the horrible numbness that came with the venom made every bit of pressure on Derek’s sternum and stomach radiate discomfort. It didn’t help that Stiles’ arms were bent funny, with one trapped between both their stomachs and the other twisted against Derek’s right elbow. His head clipped Derek’s chin as he came down, knocking it upward while the scratch of Stiles’ buzzcut itched at his neck and jaw.

“Get him _off_ of me,” Derek growled.

He didn’t like close contact from anyone, let alone a human. Even having Stiles as a member of the pack wasn’t enough to make his touch any less skin crawling. Not to mention, Stiles’ face was practically crushed into his shoulder, and Derek wasn’t sure how he was breathing.

“Oh, I don’t know, Derek,” the kid said. Derek couldn’t see him anymore, now that his face was tipped to the side. “I think you two make a pretty good pair.”

He didn’t even know this bastard’s name. How did he know Derek’s?

“I should’ve let Scott and Stiles kidnap Jackson sooner. With the way Stiles never shuts up, it’s almost like I _know_ you, Derek. The surly Alpha who had to kill his own uncle for power. Now look at you. I would say you’re probably not used to feeling this helpless, but from what I hear it’s like you’re cursed or something.”

Biting back another growl, Derek lightened his tone. “Still got some teeth. Why don’t you get down here a little closer, huh? We’ll see how helpless I am.”

“Yeah, bitch,” came a muffled addition from Stiles. At least Derek knew he could breathe.

A small flash of car beams came through the blinds of one of the windows in the hall, and Derek could smell how excited the kid got. “Is that _her?_ ”

Scott’s mom was currently clambering out of a car and jingling some keys.

“Do what I say, and I won’t hurt her,” the kid promised. “I won’t even let Jackson near her.”

His heart was steady, but Stiles was already calling out, less muffled this time, as though he’d managed to get Derek’s shirt out of his mouth. “Scott, don’t trust him!”

As soon as Stiles was ripped away and rolled to the floor next to him, Derek found he infinitely preferred the discomfort and dead weight of his body. At least then he’d known Stiles wasn’t being hurt. 

“This work better for you?” the kid asked.

Derek could hear the grinding of Stiles’ Adam’s apple under his skin as it struggled to move, and the instant return of the bond pulling at him, but he couldn’t actually see what was happening. All he knew was Stiles was choking.

Derek growled at the same time as Scott began to shout. “Okay, just stop! Stop!”

“Then _do_ what I tell you to!”

“Okay,” Scott ceded. “Alright. Just stop!”

Stiles hadn’t yet started drawing breaths that weren’t half cough before the kid snapped, “You, take them in there. You, with me.”

Then Jackson was dragging Stiles away, before coming back and grabbing Derek. He was pulled into what he assumed was the sheriff’s office, the scent of both Stiles and his father ingrained in the space, then left in the middle of the floor on top of some things that jabbed at Derek’s back lightly. Jackson stood guard in the doorway with his back turned.

Next to him, Stiles was breathing normally again, recovered enough to start whispering furiously, “That motherfucking, son of a fucking bitch. I give you total permission to rip _his_ throat out. Hell, I’ll—”

A gunshot rang out, followed by muffled screams.

* * *

Stiles choked again, this time on air. No, no. “Oh god, oh god.”

“Scott? Stiles! What happened?” came his dad’s shout from the cells.

His dad was here, and Scott’s mom was here, and someone just got shot, and Stiles was paralyzed next to Derek, who was _also_ paralyzed. Not to mention the four dead cops laying around the station. Stiles _knew_ those people, and now he was gonna die with them.

“It’s fine,” Derek muttered. “Stiles, it’s fine. It’s Scott. He’ll heal. Jesus Christ, Stiles, it’s fine.”

He sounded in pain, and Stiles tried to turn his head to look, but he couldn’t _fucking_ move. “No, it’s not fine. It’s nowhere near _fine._ Did the kanima hurt you? Tell me you’re healing. The venom won’t make it worse, right?”

He quieted at Derek’s growl and squeezed his eyes shut because it wasn’t like he could see anything but the ceiling. Great, now Derek was gonna die too. And who knew how many more people when Matt ran off with the kanima? What if he went after the rest of the pack too?

“I’m fine. You need to _stop_.”

“Stop _what?_ ”

“Stop being scared!”

“Are you fucking joking?” Stiles spat.

Beside him, Derek groaned. “Stiles, just—would you just fucking breathe?”

Apparently not even a deadly situation could keep Stiles’ brain from going completely blank for a second at Derek’s words. “Did…did you just say ‘fuck?’ Did you actually just swear?”

Derek was panting slightly, but he didn’t sound strained anymore as he growled. “You are ridiculous.”

“I _told_ you swearing relieves pain.”

“ _You’re_ a pain. Would you just tell me who this guy is?”

“It’s Matt. Matt Daehler. He’s this asshole who claims that everybody he killed ‘killed him first’ or something.” Stiles stopped himself at the sound of footsteps coming closer. He opened his eyes and looked down as best he could without moving his head to watch Scott get shoved into the room by Matt’s gun. That was blood seeping through a hole in Scott’s shirt and dripping off his fingers. Holy shit.

He knew that werewolves could get hurt and heal. He’d watched it happen to Derek multiple times, and Erica and Boyd now too. There was even the simple disappearance of Isaac’s bruises the day after he was bitten. But he’d never seen Scott hurt like _this_ , and it made his own stomach hurt in kind.

“The evidence is gone,” Scott said. He wasn’t even covering up his injury anymore. “Why don’t you just go?”

Matt scoffed. “You—you think the evidence mattered that much, huh? No, no, I want the _book_.”

“What? What book?”

“The bestiary!”

The fact that Matt knew what that was was bad enough, but why did he need it? Stiles slid his eyes to the left, wishing he could catch Derek’s eye. Matt seemed to be doing just fine at controlling Jackson without his instruction manual.

“Not just a few pages,” Matt added, “I want the entire thing.”

Scott sighed. “I don’t have it! It’s Gerard’s, Allison’s grandfather’s. What do you want it for anyway?”

More frantic by the minute, Matt cried, “I need answers!”

“Answers to what?”

“To this!”

Matt yanked up one side of his shirt to reveal scaly skin just like what was currently covering half of Jackson’s body. After a second, it _shimmered_. Stiles couldn’t help the little gasp he let out, and it made Matt snarl at him and cover up his side again.

He stormed around the back of the desk, his foot making a dull _thump_ , followed by a growl from Derek, who Stiles was pretty sure had just gotten kicked. When Matt reappeared, he had Scott’s phone in his hand and he shoved it at Scott’s bloody fingers. “Allison’s grandfather has it? Then make her bring it.”

Just like he had when his mom was brought up, Scott froze. “She—she’s not invo—”

“Oh shut it, McCall. I told you already, I know about the hunters. I know Allison is one. You make her bring it,” he resettled the gun in his hand and suddenly it was pointed at Stiles again, “Or I put a bullet through Stiles’ head.”

Derek began to growl again, low and fierce, and even though it was totally irrational, Stiles wasn’t as scared as he’d been before. He was still terrified for everyone else in the station, but Stiles had this weird security that he’d be fine.

It took less than a second for Scott to hold a hand out and start typing with the other. “I’m doing it! Just put the gun down!”

As soon as he’d finished and held the phone up as proof, Matt took it back, threw it on the desk again and shoved him out the door with the gun to his spine. “We’ll just wait out here while Jackson babysits.”

They wandered away, and Stiles let out a huff. Derek didn’t say anything though, so Stiles did it himself. “Hey,” he whispered, not sure if Matt was able to listen through Jackson’s ears when they were in the same building. “Do you know what’s happening to Matt?”

“I know the book’s not gonna help him,” Derek muttered, just as quiet. “You can’t just break the rules, not like this.”

Stiles would have loved to frown, but talking was hard enough. “What do you mean?”

“The universe balances things out. It always does.”

Sometimes, Stiles was grateful for the frankly disturbing and fractured parts of his brain. He was incapable of thinking about one thing at a time, usually, no matter how annoyed or excited he was. Only extreme focus or extreme fear kept his thoughts marching one by one. So, now, he was able to siphon away the fact that apparently _karma_ was a thing, for him to ask about later, while staying on task.

“Is it because he’s using Jackson to kill people who don’t deserve it?”

“And killing people himself,” Derek added.

Stiles managed a contemplative blink. “So if Matt breaks the rules of the kanima, he becomes the kanima?”

“Balance.” Derek was looking straight at the ceiling, focused and quiet.

“Will he believe us if we tell him that?”

“Not likely.”

“Okay, he’s gonna kill all of us when he gets that book, isn’t he?” Stiles asked, tired of dancing around it, even in his own head.

Thankfully, Derek was as blunt as ever. “Yep.” Somehow, the honesty actually helped.

“Okay, so what do we do?” Stiles was always an action man, whether it was researching or just throwing himself into things, he had to _do_ something. “Do we just sit here and wait to die?”

“Unless I can figure out a way to push the toxin out of my body faster, like triggering the healing process.”

Again, Stiles’ lips twitched as he tried to frown. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“What?”

Stiles sighed a little and glanced over at Jackson again. “The venom. I don’t think triggering the healing process will help, at least not right now. Not while Jackson is here. Think about it. When I got slimed at the garage, I was up and moving around in like fifteen minutes. But when you got swiped at the pool, you couldn’t move for two and a half hours. Then, like five minutes or less after Jackson got scared off by his own reflection—which I will continue to find funny no matter how sick and depressing it is—you were walking around again.”

Derek growled a little, but it seemed to be less threat and more frustration. “So, what? You’re saying that as long as Jackson is nearby, the venom won’t fade?”

“We can talk all we want about the venom being a paralytic, but it’s also fucking _magic_ ,” Stiles said. “So don’t go stabbing yourself or anything, not that you could. What we need is to get Jackson to leave the room.”

For a while, Derek didn’t answer. Stiles could just barely see him, enough to tell that he wasn’t looking at the ceiling anymore. He was looking at Jackson’s half-shifted body. It’d been creepy for the ten seconds Stiles had seen him in the library, but this was way worse.

The scales covering Jackson’s side weren’t just on his usually visible skin anymore. They were also over half his head, the hair missing like he’d gotten it shaved, and it was getting worse. How much longer until there was a six foot lizard crouching in the doorway?

“I did that to him.”

Stiles wasn’t sure who was more surprised that Derek had said it. Him or Derek.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I bit him.”

“He practically _forced_ you to bite him.”

“Then I threw him in a river. How do you know that isn’t what caused this?”

“Because the fact that he was going to become a kanima was probably why he blacked out after you bit him in the first place,” Stiles hissed.

Derek wouldn’t let it go. “I _shouldn’t_ have bitten him. I should have known he didn’t want a place in the pack. He just wanted the bite.”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. After a second he whispered, “But he did.”

“Did _what_ , Stiles?”

Wishing he could roll his shoulders, Stiles just pictured himself shifting into a more comfortable position, one where empty folders weren’t jabbing him in the lower back. “Derek, he _wanted_ to be in your pack. When I talked to him, when we had him in the police van after we grabbed him at _Jungle_. Dude, he was pissed that you rejected him. Did—did you have a pack bond with him?”

The slow exhale beside him wasn’t reassuring, but then Derek said, “Yeah. Just barely. Until I found him dripping black bile out his ears and nose and it fucking _disappeared_.”

“You never told me what _makes_ a pack bond.”

This wasn’t the place or the time, but it wasn’t like Stiles had many other options. Just like at the pool, he was stuck here, in close proximity to Derek, and he had _questions_.

For once, Derek seemed to have answers. “It’s…a lot of things. To join a pack, usually the actual question is asked, and someone agrees. It’s an agreement, above everything else. It’s family you choose. You can be born into a pack, but the bond won’t grow unless you _want_ it to. The rest is intent. What you intend is more important than actually saying the words. You have to _want_ to be in the pack, to belong to it, and the Alpha of the pack has to want you back. You don’t have to be _liked_ , but you have to be accepted. Because the point of pack is to be accepted completely. So you only need the hard evidence of it once, by saying it out loud, and then it’s yours forever.”

“So…” Stiles muttered, “doesn’t that mean that at least part of Jackson wanted to join your pack? That it wasn’t just about the bite? Cus’ if it were, then there wouldn’t have been a bond at all.”

“That doesn’t change anything, Stiles,” Derek sighed. “The bond is still gone. Jackson is the kanima, and I have no idea how to get him to leave, or to get Matt to shut the hell up in the other room.”

Stiles liked to think his body twitched, but if it had, Derek would’ve noticed. “What’s he talking about? Anything useful?”

“He said that he’s murdering people because the swim team threw him in a pool when he was a kid, he couldn’t swim, and he drowned. Isaac’s dad resuscitated him, and threatened him if he didn’t keep quiet. Once Jackson turned, the people Matt took pictures of died, so he took more pictures. Then he rambled inaccurately about Greek furies. Their job wasn’t to punish those that’d gotten away with any bad deeds. They were persecutors of those that broke the rules of hospitality, swore false oaths, and murdered family members. Betrayers of trust. Their job was to hear the complaints of the victims and punish their wrongdoers. Not kill new mothers in their hospital beds.”

Stiles wasn’t actually sure how to respond to that. Oh _god_ , Matt drowned? He’d…he’d fucking _drowned_? The worst corner of his mind wanted details. Had Matt had nightmares? Did he wake up gasping for air and refuse to drink water for weeks, forced to get his liquids through ice pops and soda, because the smell of tap water made him gag? Did he spend days coughing because he never felt like all the water had come out of his lungs?

What came out was, “Holy shit, Derek, are you a geek?” He stopped and recalibrated. “Or _were_ you a geek?”

No response came, so Stiles switched tactics. “So he blames the swim team for letting him die. For being bystanders.”

“Apparently.”

Suddenly the lights above them flicked off, and an alarm began to blare.

“Uh, what’s going on? Did you—” Stiles asked.

“Wasn’t me. Your dad?”

“Currently handcuffed in the cell room. He didn’t do it.”

The rapid firing of guns through the windows and blinds of the building was a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because Jackson immediately bolted to find Matt, and a curse because there was glass flying everywhere and Stiles still couldn’t move. All he could do was close his eyes and hope nothing landed on his eyelids.

Smoke came next, not the kind preceded by a spark and popping wood, but thick, chemically cloying waves that rolled along the floor through the door. The only saving grace was how quickly it was rising, leaving the tiniest space near the ground where Stiles would be able to breathe, if only he could turn his head away.

Something smacked into his ribs for a moment, then Stiles was shoved over onto his side. The little bits of glass that’d hit his face slid off and he gasped in the clearer air against the tile.

“Stiles!” Scott’s shout rang out as he stormed into the room.

* * *

Though it’d barely been a minute since Jackson left the room, Derek had already regained at least general use of his arms. Enough to push Stiles over so he didn’t suffocate and lift himself into a semi-sitting position. At Scott’s arrival, he just jutted his chin in Stiles’ direction. “Take him! Go!”

Scott pulled Stiles up, his lanky arms swinging uselessly, and stumbled him out of the room, while Derek shuffled himself over behind the desk. If this was a proximity thing, he needed to keep as far from Jackson as possible until the venom had faded.

It didn’t take long, just a minute or two of listening to things smashing, and Derek could get his feet underneath him. With stiff fingers, he hooked his hands on the desk and began to pull himself up to standing.

He paused at the sound of Stiles’ dad yelling from somewhere deep within the station. Stiles had said he was handcuffed in the cell room, the same place Isaac had been locked up. Shoving hard to stand up straight, Derek shifted up and snarled at the sound. His run was a little closer to a stumble, but it took him in the right direction.

He had to step over bodies in the hall, officers with deep gouges down their chests or straight into their hearts. It was no wonder Matt was turning so quickly if he’d forced Jackson to kill all these people. If Matt became a kanima himself, would it free Jackson, or would there just be two lizards running around? If they attached themselves to other masters, it would just multiply the problem.

As Derek reached the opening to the cells, there was groaning, two heartbeats, and the creak of metal, but no sounds of an attack. He skidded into the room just as the sheriff pried a panel from the wall. The little sheet of metal hung from the other end of the handcuffs attached to his wrist.

“Are you hurt?” Derek checked, stepping toward his bright, hot form.

He startled at the quiet scream from within the cell that the sheriff was facing. The second heartbeat was Scott’s mom, whom Derek had somehow forgotten. Her hands were covering her face, holding back small whimpers as she stared at him.

The sheriff turned to look at him and froze, staring as well. “Derek? Is…”

Abruptly, Derek shifted down and watched the sheriff’s face go back to shades of pale pink flush instead of glowing reds. He wasn’t dressed for work, no uniform or belt. No gun that he could’ve used to protect himself, not that it would’ve done any good against Jackson anyway.

“We need to get you two out of here,” he tried again. He stepped up to the sheriff’s side, bracing himself in case the sheriff lashed out, but he didn’t move. Ms. McCall, on the other hand, squealed and retreated to the back of her cell.

It only took a light grip on each side of the handcuff to pop it apart and let the metal clink onto the ground. To Derek’s surprise, Stiles’ dad just grimaced as he rubbed his wrist.

“I’m glad I took Stiles’ advice about not trying to arrest you again. You telling me you could’ve done that any time when we first took you in?”

Derek shrugged, looking down at the broken halves. “Yes. But I wouldn’t have.” At the sheriff’s curious blink he added, “Exposure.”

All at once, Derek was reminded _why_ exposure was so bad. The proof was currently muttering to herself against the far wall, little pleas and curses. This was what he’d been trying to avoid when he told Scott not to play in his lacrosse game. All that fear that would inevitably turn to hatred, just like the hunters and their clans. Rule number one of his entire life was to _never_ expose himself. Never run too fast or look too strong. Now, suddenly, so many people were in on the secret and he was to blame.

Just the sight of his shifted face was enough to reduce a woman to tears. 

“Ah, right.” As if he’d been listening to Derek’s thoughts, the sheriff looked over at Melissa. “I—uh, I’ll see if I can get her to calm down. Where’s Stiles?”

“He’s—” Derek froze, the promise that Stiles was safe and gone on the tip of his tongue. There were tiny squeaks in the hallway, coming from the opposite direction that Derek had arrived from.

Grimacing, he twisted and went to the hall, shifting back up in case he needed to fight. Stiles was on the ground a few feet away, pulling himself along with jerky movements of his hands and arms. The squeaks were coming from his shoes dragging on the floor.

At the sight of Derek, he didn’t stare, just sighed. “Thank god. I heard shouting. Is he—”

“He’s fine,” Derek said. Growling a little, he pulled Stiles up and hooked one of Stiles’ arms over his shoulder so he could drag him into the room where his father was waiting.

Ms. McCall yelped again, and Derek squinted at her until the sheriff sighed. “Derek, could you maybe put the—” he gestured at his face, “away?”

Stiles snorted a laugh beside him, apparently unbothered by the werewolf holding him up. Forgetting his reservations, Derek snapped his teeth toward Stiles’ face before shifting down. Stiles didn’t so much as flinch.

The sheriff was surprisingly calm about the entire thing, coming over to take Stiles and propping him into a sitting position on the bench to look him over. “This is from Jackson’s venom, right? How long until it wears off?”

“Uh, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes,” Stiles reassured. He flopped his arms up and down a bit. “It’s taking longer than last time though. I think it’s cus’ I got cut instead of slimed.” Stiles frowned toward Derek, his eyes scrunching. “Why are you already running around? How is that fair?”

Derek’s response was cut off when he once again heard feet in the hall, along with a racing heartbeat. Holding up a hand toward Stiles and the sheriff to keep them back, he went to look and found himself face to face with Matt. The gun in his hand was shaking, and he stank of fear and anger. As the barrel of the gun was aimed his way, Derek growled and shifted up one more time, suddenly relishing in the shock and fear it created. Matt may have learned about werewolves, but Derek doubted he’d _seen_ them yet.

As Matt’s eyes widened, Derek stepped forward, only for Matt to turn and run. Derek would have run after him if the kanima hadn’t stepped into the hall and blocked the way. It dashed at him, and Derek barely got his hands up in time to catch it around the wrists and keep the venomous claws away from him. Using its momentum against it, Derek swung around and tossed it into the wall behind the single desk across the room from Stiles, the sheriff, and Ms. McCall.

He grabbed for the metal chair as the kanima recovered and tried to shove it against—and hopefully _through_ —the kanima’s chest. It couldn’t heal if something was stuck in its ribcage. But the kanima just got a grip on the legs and reversed it, shoving Derek backward to the floor. Derek jumped up at the same time as the kanima jumped down and they collided in midair. Derek raked his claws down its back as deep as he could, making it shriek in his ear before he was shoved and kicked across the room again. The crack of his head against the cement wall dazed him for a second, long enough for the kanima to turn to Stiles and the sheriff, but a roar from the right drew its attention instead.

Scott was there, shifted and furious.

As he popped his claws and raced forward, Derek saw the body language of the kanima shift. Suddenly, it didn’t look interested in fighting them. When it dove at Scott, it was trying to get around him, and though Scott got in a slash to its side, it still got away and bolted the same direction Matt had gone. Scrambling to his feet, Derek ran after it, shouting over his shoulder. “Get them out of here!”

The damn thing was fast, and Derek had to push to keep up. If he lost it now, there wasn’t a scent to follow. Every time it darted around a corner he had to make the same turn and lost time when his shoes skidded.

He caught the sound at the last second, a rasping, aged voice ordering two men to check another section of the station. They came around the corner and were barreled over as the kanima raced past them. The slight confusion gave Derek just enough time to slip into another hall out of sight.

After righting themselves, he watched the hunters run past his hiding spot, oblivious. As he worked out how to get around the last man, Derek listened for any hints he was coming closer. None came, but there was a familiar heart racing toward the hall the hunter was in.

Before Derek could warn Scott off, he’d already been caught. If Derek came from the back, they could take the guy down easily. Then, Scott spoke.

“What are you doing here? It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!”

Derek froze.

The elderly voice spoke again, relaxed. “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

Derek’s heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest, and he drooped back against the wall. Please, _please_ , let this not be happening.

“I’ve done _everything_ that you’ve asked of me,” Scott continued. “I’m part of Derek’s pack, I’ve given you all the information that you wanted, I told you Matt was controlling Jackson—”

“Then leave him to us. Help your friends.”

It was like Derek had forgotten how to breathe. This was Gerard, he was sure. Allison’s grandfather. Kate’s dad.

“Leave Matt and Jackson to me. Deal with your mother,” Gerard said, voice nearly a whisper.

As always, it didn’t take much to send Scott running, and he raced past Derek’s hiding spot without a second glance. Any wolf, no matter how untrained, should’ve known Derek was there. And yet.

Gerard left right after, giving Derek the freedom to escape out the back door that he’d used with Isaac. He took the same route too, disappearing into the tree line with every sense on high alert in case any hunters had tried to create a perimeter. There was none, and Derek made it halfway back to the depot before his legs gave out in an alley.

He…Scott…Derek groaned and curled in on himself until his forehead was touching the gravel. There was no pack bond. There had _never_ been a pack bond. Not even a whisp. God, why was he such a fucking idiot?

All that talk about no secrets, about being Derek’s pack. He’d offered nothing and asked for everything, and Derek had _given_ it to him. To both of them.

Because Stiles had to be involved. Didn’t he?

He was the one who’d pushed _so hard_ from the beginning for Scott to join the pack. For Derek to keep Scott in the loop. To keep _him_ in the loop. How much had he let slip to Stiles? Secrets and rules and his whole world, everything that was supposed to be kept away from the hunters at all costs. It was better for them to be seen as mindless animals because it gave them the upper hand when they had to hide or fight. The less the hunters knew, the less they could use against wolves.

But Stiles had asked _and_ offered, and Derek had given it to him. He hadn’t even had the guts to properly cut Stiles out when he realized Stiles’ loyalties were with Scott. He’d let his Betas fuss and cajole him into keeping Stiles around, asking for his help.

 _Fuck_. His Betas. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were trussed up in the depot and both Stiles and Scott knew where they were.

For the third time that night, Derek ran like he was being chased, this time toward his _actual_ pack.

When he reached the depot, Derek threw open the door and jumped down to the ground past the stairs, ignoring the sharp pains in his legs of bone cracking. “Boyd?” he shouted.

“Here,” came Boyd’s quiet croak.

They were there, Erica and Isaac curled up on the floor and groaning at the wake up while Boyd sat on the bench, his shackles undone and his face shifted down. “What happened? Where is—”

“Don’t,” Derek cut him off. Going by the growling and small snarls coming from Erica and Isaac, they weren’t all there yet, and he didn’t need them freaking out because Boyd brought up Stiles. “I,” Derek started. He stopped and just stared at his Betas for a second, trying to will his heart to slow down and the terror to fade. “I need—”

The words wouldn’t come. What was he supposed to tell them? Every time before that he’d tried to explain that Stiles was dangerous, no one had listened. They’d turned against him for the sake of one human. They _cared_ about Stiles. Who was to say they wouldn’t just run off if he told them what’d happened?

“Alpha.”

Derek eyes snapped to Boyd. They didn’t do that. No one but…no one called Derek that. They weren’t that kind of pack.

But Boyd’s eyes were bright gold. “Alpha, what do you need me to do?”

Bonds didn’t lie, and Boyd’s bond was made of the toughest cord, unshakeable. Isaac’s was too. And Erica’s. They were _his_ Betas, and Derek would be damned if he lost them.

“Pack. Pack your things. And Erica’s.”

Immediately, Boyd jumped to his feet and walked out toward Isaac’s room. No questions. But it wasn’t the same subdued obedience that Erica had had in Deaton’s. It was just solemn agreement.

Derek followed Boyd, then split off to go to his own room. It wasn’t as though he had much to worry about. Years of moving from apartment to apartment had taught him to keep his belongings sparse. Grabbing his duffel from the corner, Derek forced himself to carefully roll each of his shirts and jeans and pack them tightly into the bag, unendingly grateful that he’d made the others put duffel bags on their lists for Stiles. Backup plans were important, and his fear was working in his favor for once.

Erica and Isaac’s sounds from the train faded away after a couple minutes as they sank back into sleep, leaving just the steady rhythm of their hearts to let Derek know they were okay. He hated the fifty feet between him and them, hated it more every second he spent shoving things away.

As soon as his own items were packed, Derek joined Boyd in Isaac’s room and got to work on packing Isaac’s stuff. Boyd was still folding up his and Erica’s things, putting them in the two bags without distinguishing between his own and hers. They worked in silence, though Derek’s head was filled with the whines and screams he couldn’t let out.

“I need,” Derek whispered, when Isaac’s bag was full as well. “We can’t leave anything behind.”

“You want me to get rid of the mattresses and stuff?”

“We can hide them somewhere and I’ll come back for them tomorrow. But they need to be gone from here. No one can know we were here.”

Boyd’s short nod made a little of the fear fade back, enough for Derek to say, “You’re not gonna ask why?”

Boyd just shrugged and zipped up his two bags. “You’ll tell me. I can wait.”

The trip to the Camaro out back was made by Derek and Derek alone, bags filling his arms to the point that he had to shift awkwardly to get through the door. He didn’t care, Boyd wasn’t leaving the depot until they were _all_ leaving the depot.

By the time he got back from packing everything away in the trunk, the mattresses and mini-fridge were waiting in the middle of the platform, and both rooms had been both deep cleaned and dirtied. The dirt they’d swept into the corners when they arrived had been spread back out on the floors and smoothed out, leaving no trace of footprints or mattress indents, but there were also no incriminating receipts or wrappers. Boyd was back in the train, sitting on the floor next to Erica.

She’d shifted down, as had Isaac. It had to be getting close to dawn by now, since the itching of the moon under Derek’s skin had receded for the most part.

“We need to move them,” he whispered, kneeling across from Boyd, next to Isaac. “It’ll be easier if we don’t wake them up all the way.”

He moved the mattresses and fridge, hiding them in the loft of a warehouse nearby while Boyd unhooked the shackles and stored them in a bag. Then there was nothing left to do but toss out the shattered and scratched pallets and carry their unconscious pack members up to the car.

Derek went first, Isaac pulled against his chest like a child on his hip, snoring softly. It was uncomfortable, like all touching was for Derek, but it steadied him as well. Isaac was usually a light sleeper, waking up at the slightest change in scent. But he didn’t stir as Derek carried him up the two flights and out into the pre-dawn light. He settled Isaac into the passenger seat that he’d mostly claimed, then whistled lowly toward the door he’d propped open.

Boyd came out, Erica held the same way and just as far gone. Once they’d pulled quietly onto the road, Derek bit out his next request. “Don’t tell him.”

He didn’t need to specify who.

As he’d expected, Boyd’s obedience wavered in the form of curiosity. He furrowed his brows into a question in the rearview mirror, but didn’t speak.

Derek wasn’t ready to explain. He didn’t think he could do it more than once and he wanted all of them to be awake for it. For now, all he had was a quiet, “Please.”

He waited for the inevitable argument, barely able to keep his eyes on the road, but it never came.

“Okay,” Boyd said.

For the first time since leaving the station, Derek was able to take a full breath.

He could smell it before it ever came into sight through the trees. The only place he had left to go, the place he just kept circling back to no matter how much it hurt. Ash and dust and rotting wood. It smelled like pain, and when they got close enough, Boyd made a noise of confusion and perked up in the backseat.

“They’ve already searched it,” Derek explained. “I don’t think they’ll come back.”

“What is it?”

Derek’s words caught in his throat like razorblades. “My home.”

When he stepped through the door, Derek shifted Isaac until his nose was tucked against Derek’s neck. It made him want to snap and growl, but he didn’t want to risk waking Isaac up with the stench of Deaton that still lingered on the air. That wasn’t the only stale scent in the building.

He could smell Peter, and Lydia, and underneath that, Allison Argent herself. Her dad too. It was too old a scent for him to pinpoint where they’d been in the house, or what they’d been doing, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he had another option.

He led Boyd up the stairs, pointedly stepping away from the same dodgy section of flooring that he’d had to yank Stiles from a couple months ago. The room they entered wasn’t his. It was Laura’s. But it was still intact, for the most part, except for a hole in one of the walls. The windows were even in one piece, unshattered by vandals or bored teenagers with rocks. Once he’d put Isaac on the floor and Boyd was settling Erica, Derek went back down and retrieved their bags.

Boyd was the one who tucked his duffel under Erica’s head, and Derek followed suit with Isaac’s.

“Why haven’t they woken up yet?” Boyd muttered.

“Full moons take a lot out of us,” Derek answered. “That includes you. You should sleep.”

Boyd shook his head. “I’m good.”

Derek didn’t have the strength to argue, so he just sat down, facing the bedroom door, his legs crossed and his senses focused on the woods around them to listen for intruders. It was peaceful, at least. Just the sounds of animals and the rustling of the wind through the new leaves on the trees. More musical than the groans and shifting of the depot.

The heat that settled a few inches behind him was alarming, and Derek tensed. He listened to Boyd’s legs cross and his shoes scrape against the wood. “There’s a triskele in the corner,” Boyd noted. It wasn’t even a question.

“My first night as an Alpha,” Derek whispered, “I couldn’t control my shift.” He swallowed. “I had to go back to the mantra my family taught me. The drawing helped me focus.”

“Alpha, Beta, Omega? Like your tattoo?” Boyd asked, politely not pointing out that there were still vestiges of Stiles’ scent in the room, giving away who’d _made_ the drawing.

Derek nodded, even though Boyd wouldn’t be able to see him. “Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

He knew it was coming as soon as Boyd began to shift, but the press of Boyd’s back against his own still made him curl his hands into fists. How was it possible for something so simple to be so unnerving and comforting at the same time? On the one hand, it was far too dangerous to give _anyone_ access to him. On the other, at least he knew that Boyd had his back covered. Watching everything Derek couldn’t see.

“Thank you, Boyd.”

Forcing his body to relax in tiny increments, Derek allowed the touch and closed his eyes to wait for dawn to turn into day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> So that line in the beginning about Harris just proves a point that I meant to make in the rave chapter. Harris _couldn't._ have been at the fucking rave, if Matt's been stealing his car to go commit murders. It's one thing to say Matt was taking it and then returning it before Harris found out, but if Harris went to the rave, he'd have taken his own car, and LEFT in it after that awkward scene. Which means it wouldn't have been there when Stiles was doing the ash line. So XP Harris wasn't there.  
> I've been _aching_ to write the sheriff department scene from Derek's POV. To show what that would have felt like to him, learning that Scott betrayed him to Gerard, that Stiles was probably in on it. It just ouches so much, I _had_ to write it. Plus, I was desperate to have some serious pack stuff, to show them as a cohesive unit. To point out Boyd's incredible steadiness and loyalty. I just...I needed Derek to be able to lean on his pack a little and have them take care of him.  
> Also, I know that I didn't actually mention Allison and her mother's death _at all_ but that was a bit difficult with the POV's I'm working with. There'll be a lil more mention of that whole situation later on, but we're not gonna get a whole lot of the intimate stuff bc I'm not using Allison's POV. I hope you like what I'm actually able to add.  
> Oh! And what'd you all think of my pack bond stuff? I was really interested in making pack bonds much more tangible and give them a purpose/effect. Do you think it worked?
> 
> I'mma be real, just like in the show, these last few chapters/episodes are gonna get heavier, and won't have a lot of bright spots, so keep the tissues around and please take care of yourselves. Pace yourself if you need to.  
> See you next week! We're getting close to the end, and it's so exciting/nervewracking. <3


	12. Episode 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So...this one's gonna hurt. A lot. And honestly, so's the next one. Buckle in and PLEASE, for the love of god, pay ATTENTION to my content warnings in these opening notes. For example, in this chapter, although I already have the "panic attack" tag on this, I'm also gonna say-  
> Content Warning: Explicit Description of a Panic/Anxiety Attack. (If you want to skip this scene, it starts at the phrase "He managed to hold it in until Wednesday evening." and ends at "Stiles nodded in a small jerk, then fell asleep."  
> Content Warning: Minor Reference to Suicide.  
> Content Warning: Minor Reference to Kate...just, in general.

Stiles stayed home on Monday and got the news about Allison’s mom committing suicide in the middle of the afternoon. Suddenly, _everything_ made sense, going all the way back to the blood staining Derek’s teeth as he left the rave.

If anyone asked, Stiles was ecstatic that his dad had gotten his job back, that Matt had gotten his just desserts. He was relieved to know no more people were going to die and that his dad was uninjured.

If they didn’t ask, he was horrified at how many officers had been slaughtered because he led Matt straight to the station after the party. He was furious that someone had killed Matt and gotten away with it when it would have been so much more satisfying to watch that piece of garbage rot behind bars for the rest of his life. He was scared out of his mind at the thought of his dad going to work. He couldn’t sleep. He’d gone back to eating ice pops in his room. 

It took until 6:15 that evening for someone to respond to his increasingly frantic texts to the pack. If anything, it made him feel worse.

**Flash & Co.: We’re fine. - Boyd**

Boyd hadn’t been particularly chatty since they became pack, but he usually knew when an explanation was needed. Right now, an explanation was _definitely_ needed. But there was nothing Stiles could do. He didn’t dare put them at risk by going to the depot, and each time he tried to call, it went to voicemail. It didn’t just ring out, no, the call was cancelled after a couple rings and he was _sent_ to voicemail.

Allison didn’t respond at all, but at least that Stiles could understand.

But neither did Lydia. Or Scott.

The look on Scott’s face after Derek had disappeared, when he’d turned to his mother and she burst into heaving sobs, was excruciating. Scott had run off, and Stiles’s dad had to dig the spare keys out of the dented desk and free her. She’d puked into a trash can on the way to the door and bolted for her car the minute she was outside.

Matt had been drowned. Again. Stiles had no clue what that meant for Jackson, if he was free or if the kanima would just find someone else to control him. 

He was too busy dealing with the revival of some of his worst nightmares. He managed maybe an hour or two of sleep in the early hours of Monday, and another couple that night while he curled up outside his dad’s bedroom door and listened to him snore.

Stiles followed his dad to the station on Monday, despite his protests, and spent the entire time bouncing around his dad’s office while he tried to do the necessary paperwork to get reinstated and deal with Matt’s murders. Every spot Stiles tried to sit in or stand in made him want to scream after a couple seconds. This one was too far from the door. That one too far from the tarped up windows. There was the urge to hide in the corner behind his dad, and another just as strong to stand between him and every _single_ person who knocked on that door. His dad didn’t call him out on it.

Tuesday morning, Stiles’ dad appeared at his door, and they had an entire conversation in about three seconds of eye contact. When it was over, Stiles picked up his backpack, left the house, and drove to school. He shook the entire way.

School was, as Stiles had suspected it would be, hell. He couldn’t stop startling at every little noise. Every locker door that closed turned to gunshots in his head and when the bell went off after first period, he fell out of his chair, sure that a rain of gunfire, glass, and smoke would follow.

Scott still didn’t talk to him, even though he took his usual seat at Stiles’ side during class and lunch. Allison didn’t _look_ at him. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were still missing and their absence felt like a tangible _hole_ in the air around Stiles. Jackson was there physically, but his face was completely blank, totally gone, and Stiles didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Had killing Matt somehow stuck Jackson in kanima mode? Had he found a new master? Or was he just terrified and hiding it? Was there any of Jackson left in that body at all?

Out of all of them, Lydia was the only one who made the slightest bit of eye contact, but even that was an accident. He caught her looking at him exactly once, and she got up and left the cafeteria, the scarf around her neck fluttering. He still didn’t know why she’d drugged everyone.

It was bizarre, how totally fucked up everything was, considering Sunday night, standing in his dad’s office, he’d been so sure that things were about to be fixed.

He managed to hold it in until Wednesday evening. It was so small, what broke him. He’d been doing a decent job of skimming over the cracks that permeated everything and just going about his day like nothing was wrong. After school he went home and made dinner. Just a basic, bland, chicken and green bean casserole. Something so easy he could do it with his eyes shut.

His dad was supposed to be home at seven. He wasn’t.

It was fucking instantaneous. The clock hit seven, the front door didn’t open, and Stiles lost it.

The sudden rush of tears was weird, but Stiles cut himself a break. He was worried, that was all. Only then the tears wouldn’t stop, and they got worse and worse, until he was sobbing and he didn’t actually know why. His heart was pounding, not just in his chest, but everywhere, right down to his toes, and he couldn’t _breathe_. He didn’t know how long he sat at the table, falling apart over an empty plate, but it was long enough for his head to start to hurt from the tension. Sharp pangs of agony like someone was driving a poker into his temple every time another sob ripped its way out of his chest.

He knew something was wrong, couldn’t identify it or fix it, but he knew it all the same. He’d left his phone on the counter in the kitchen, but the ten feet he needed to walk felt like a thousand. Slowly, Stiles slipped out of his chair and hit the ground, blind with tears and gagging around his hyperventilating. On hands and knees he shuffled toward the counter, letting random rocks that they’d brought in on their shoes dig into his knees through his sweats and not really feeling it.

The pain was getting worse, until Stiles was sure half his crying was caused by it. At some point, he collapsed and started to scream into his arm with every pulse of pain. It was the most vicious cycle he’d ever experienced, and he had _no_ control. His hands wouldn’t do what he told them, and he couldn’t keep a single solid sentence in his head.

The door opened mid scream, and the floor vibrated with the hard stomps of boots.

Weathered hands held him up, but Stiles was too busy scrunching his eyes closed against the knives in his head, the tension making everything worse and _god_ how he wished he could stop. He was trying so fucking hard not to puke.

He writhed when he was picked up off the floor, the sudden loss of that cool linoleum a whole new kind of agony. When the arms around him didn’t let up, Stiles swung into the opposite movement, wrapping himself around the tan canvas jacket and squeezing with what little strength he had left.

The sound of running water made him scream again, this time into the fabric of his dad’s shoulder. The rush cut out a moment later and switched to a dozen smaller streams, the kind that didn’t make him want to thrash.

He was still _crying_. Still unable to get in a full breath. Still incapable of making his fingers move. His shirt was dragged over his head and his sweats pulled off his legs, and then for a brief moment, Stiles was let go. Instantly, he curled up as small and tight as he could against the cold floor and the colder porcelain of the tub, desperate to get rid of the inescapable heat that was burning his head.

Then the hands came back, and Stiles was dragged into the tub under the shower spray. It was cold, the water a shock against his skin that startled Stiles into silence for a moment and interrupted the cycle of pain. Distantly, he registered that his boxers were going to get soaked, and his socks already felt squidgy where his feet rested at the drain. He was laying in his dad’s lap, tucked against his warm chest while icy water streamed down Stiles’ back.

Eventually, the cries gave way to just heaving breaths that he couldn’t get right. They kept breaking and stopping, and it was like his lungs just refused to open all the way. A little less distantly, he knew that his dad had to be incredibly uncomfortable, since he was still in his jeans and t-shirt.

Stiles started shivering around the same time that his breathing evened out. Finally, his mind was working again, but every possible thing he could say disappeared before it ever reached his throat. Silent and pliable, he let his dad pull him upright and turn off the water. He let a towel be wrapped around him and waddled like he’d done so many times as a kid into his dad’s room, where a pair of string pajamas pants were pressed into his hands. He fell backward to sit on the bed as soon as he lifted a foot to get his socks off, and just finished changing that way, staring hard at each piece of clothing and his own hands until they moved, slow and methodical.

The towel was taken away at some point, but Stiles’ eyes were closed. Again, he had no control, but this time it was the drag of exhaustion rather than the fury of panic. His dad tugged him backward onto the bed and piled at least three blankets on top of them both, before curling around Stiles with his nose at the back of Stiles head.

“Tomorrow,” his dad whispered, “we are getting you help.”

Stiles nodded in a small jerk, then fell asleep.

* * *

Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were quiet as Derek explained what he needed. He hadn’t asked them to be, but waking up in the burnt ruins of his family home had turned Isaac and Erica into silent shadows that simply lurked at the edges of his vision, and Boyd was a puddle of exhaustion. The minute Derek was finished talking, Boyd collapsed into sleep, and the others curled up at his side and sat in silence.

He knew they were confused. _He_ was confused. But he didn’t have it in him to fight or explain until he knew what was going on and had everything settled in his own head. Miraculously, all it took to keep the first ‘why’ from leaving Erica’s lips was the request, “Please, don’t ask questions.”

Maybe it said something about him, just as pathetic as the rest, that Derek had resorted to begging his Betas. Or maybe it was the opposite he should be focused on, the fact that apparently his interactions with them were so lacking that a simple “please” shut them up with surprise. His mother had always walked the fine line of sure control over her pack and gentle support and cooperation with grace, but Derek couldn’t find his footing and kept tripping from one side to the other without mastering either.

But it didn’t matter, so long as they didn’t answer the increasingly frequent buzzing of Isaac’s phone.

Scott had betrayed him. He’d asked to join Derek’s pack so he could filter information through to Gerard. There was no way to tell just how much he’d already told the hunters.

Stiles was a whole different matter. Try as he might, after spending all morning mulling it over, Derek _couldn’t_ conjure up the same fury that he had with Scott when he considered Stiles’ involvement.

Yes, Stiles had asked a lot of questions. Yes, he’d pushed to get Derek to let Scott join the pack.

But there was still a solid pack bond connecting Stiles to Derek’s pack. Derek had said so himself on the floor of his dad’s office; the pack bond couldn’t form, let alone become so strong, unless Stiles had _wanted_ it to, which meant some part of him actually wanted to be pack.

So, what then? Stiles _did_ want to be pack, but he had no problem selling them out to the hunters? Derek found that hard to believe, considering how disgusted Stiles was whenever he even had to say the word “hunter.” Stiles couldn’t fake chemosignals, and there was real anger in his scent every time Allison’s family was brought up.

Was he being forced somehow? Also unlikely. Stiles was way too clever not to have let them know with a note or message, or even another bout of ridiculous literary references.

But how would Scott be able to keep his plans from Stiles? Why? What would make Scott lie to Stiles, convince him that he really did want to be pack? There was no solution. If he confronted Stiles and Stiles knew, then word would get to Gerard that Derek was aware of the ruse. If thinking Derek was in the dark was the only thing keeping Gerard from raiding the depot immediately, then Derek wasn’t willing to risk it. The longer he could keep them off his tail the better.

Which meant the next best option was radio silence. Stiles couldn’t tell anyone what he didn’t know. Derek had to protect his pack, and it was safer for Stiles anyway if he kept his distance. If Stiles _didn’t_ know about Scott’s plan, then the hunters were still a very real threat for him and the less he was involved, the better.

It was cumbersome and annoying to retrieve the mattresses from the warehouse, but Derek did it anyway and relaxed a fraction when the Betas instantly collapsed onto Isaac’s mattress like it was a luxury they’d never been afforded before. His own mattress, he put back in its corner.

To be fair, Isaac and Erica put up with him spectacularly for the first few days, even though he barely let them leave the house to go to the bathroom. Erica only made one comment about the dust covering her skin, and cut herself off halfway through it to go dig through her duffel and pull out something to do. Isaac wandered the house, and Boyd paced almost as much as Derek.

Once Erica and Boyd were asleep and Isaac was on watch on Monday night, Derek forced himself to search for the entrance to the tunnels he’d crawled out of with Scott. As he’d hoped, they were completely abandoned. Apparently no one but Kate and Baldy had known about the little hideout, and there was still a hunk of rotting bread left on the table in the room where he’d been chained.

More importantly, there was electricity. Kate had probably hooked them up to the city’s power supply somehow, because the lights were still on when Derek climbed down the ladder. His small bet paid off when he found the tunnel that led into his own actual basement. The scent of death made him heave, but it only took a couple extension cords to bring electricity into the house. Enough, at least, for him to put the fridge at the top of the steps and to charge their phones.

Another excursion the next night gave him the ability to get some water in too. They’d sprayed him down with a hose, but that hose had to be connected to some kind of water supply. He jimmied with a few pipes until the shower they’d kept in the basement turned on. It had no screen, no walls, just a blackened pipe that’d been turned off the night of the fire. But it, along with the toilet and sink, worked.

It was more than he’d had when he stayed there after getting to Beacon Hills.

— 

On Wednesday, things went to hell. Or rather, they came back from hell.

Boyd didn’t pick up on it, even though he’d joined Derek out on the porch. He kept doing that, just coming to stand with Derek or follow him as he circled the house, like he was just as worried about Derek being alone as Derek was about them.

Derek didn’t blame him for not being able to tell the difference between the acrid smoke of the house and the bitter scent that clung to Peter now.

“In the house,” he said quietly. It didn’t need to be an order anymore. “Get the others and go to the room.”

Then Boyd was gone, and Derek was free to watch the corner of the woods that he knew Peter would come in from.

He wasn’t sure if the extensive time it took for Peter to come into view was meant to piss him off or reassure him that Peter wasn’t attacking. It managed to do both.

The moment he saw a flicker of unnatural black against the trees, Derek growled and muttered, “Don’t come closer.”

Peter came closer, and Derek raised his growl’s volume.

At the edge of the clearing, Peter stopped. “I can’t actually hear you,” he called. “Side effect.”

It was surreal to see him standing there. Derek had sliced his throat open with a single swipe of his claws, and there Peter was. He was…different, from the voice that’d possessed Lydia, but Derek couldn’t tell exactly _how_.

Rather than let Peter get any nearer the house, Derek went out to meet him, stopping a few yards away. “If you couldn’t hear me, how did you know I was talking to you?”

Peter smirked. “Because that’s what we do, Derek. You’ve watched your mother do it a thousand times.” He tipped his head toward the house. “Are they in there?”

“Who?”

“Your pack. I told you, I can’t tell. My senses are dulled, will be for a while.”

Derek had to admit, it was pretty gutsy of Peter to show up and outright admit that he was weaker than usual. As a born wolf, he was downright vulnerable without his usual hearing. Derek had only gotten a taste of it as Peter came back from the dead, but he knew he wouldn’t cope well without his wolf senses.

Playing dumb, just because he was in the position to, Derek crossed his arms. “What makes you think I even have a pack?”

He wasn’t expecting Peter’s sudden shift in tone, straight from his usual sarcasm to deadly serious. “Because if you didn’t, you would have gone mad by now.”

Instinctively, Derek snarled.

Peter backed up, and the shock of it was so strong Derek instantly stopped. Peter _never_ backed off.

“What did you do?” Derek asked.

As he’d always done, Peter read the dozen questions Derek had folded into one. “I’m not here to attack you, Derek. I needed…let’s just call it a factory reset. The easiest way to do that was—”

“To _die?_ ” Derek snapped. “And then possess an innocent teenage girl and force her to bring you back?”

In another shocking twist, Peter winced. “Apparently. I know it doesn’t make sense.” He crossed his own arms and leaned against a tree. “It’s strange, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“It’s gone,” Peter said. “Our bond. Till death do us part, apparently, and I died. You don’t owe me anything, Derek. I’m not pack anymore.”

That was it. What was missing as Derek waited for Peter to show up. He’d felt it snap when Peter died but hadn’t had time to register it properly. The bond wasn’t strong anyway, it’d been stretched and faded by time and distance, and the miniscule time that they’d spent on the same side wasn’t enough to strengthen it again. And now it was gone. His uncle was stood right in front of him, and Derek couldn’t feel any connection to him.

“What _do_ you want, if not to attack?”

“At the moment? To meet them,” Peter said easily. “I’m curious about who you chose. Did you bite them? Or recruit some lone wolves?”

Derek didn’t say anything, but Peter nodded like the answer was written on his face.

“You bit them, interesting…So, can I?”

Derek blinked. “Can you what?”

“Meet them.”

Shaking his head, Derek backed up a step. “Why are you asking? I would have thought you’d just try to sneak your way in, or just barge through the front door.”

“Derek,” Peter said. It was the same tone of voice he’d used since Derek was little. Right on the edge of patronizing, but still lined with affection. He hadn’t sounded like that since before the fire. What had brought it back? “I might be a monster, but even I know how to be polite to the Alpha of a territory.”

The reality of the statement hit Derek so hard in the face he stopped breathing for a second.

Oh god. He was the Alpha of the Beacon Hills Territory, like his mother before him and countless generations before that. He was the next Hale Alpha. The _last_ Hale Alpha.

It was a prestigious title. The kind of thing that garnered instant respect and obedience and curiosity. Every pack that’d ever visited their land had stopped by the house, kept their distance until allowed inside, and greeted all of Talia’s children with a painful formality that used to make Derek roll his eyes. He knew no pack was allowed to pass through the town without announcing themselves to the Alpha. Technically, that still held true now that _he_ was that Alpha.

Peter was technically an Omega who needed permission to stay on the land. And he was actually _asking_ for it.

Making a quarter turn away from Peter toward the house, Derek looked up at the windows. “Come down and stand in front of the staircase in a line. Boyd on your right.”

Peter’s smile was discomforting in how genuine it was. “They haven’t done this before, have they?”

“It’s been a month, Peter.”

Derek was absurdly grateful that Peter couldn’t hear Erica’s small gasp from inside the house.

Peter followed him, staying a few steps behind, just like all the visiting wolves had done for his mother, and stopped at the top of the porch stairs until Derek had opened the door and actually stood to the side to let him in.

They were standing where he’d asked, Boyd on their right, making him the first person Peter’s eyes were drawn to. Derek hadn’t exactly explained the significance of putting Boyd first, but that was a conversation for another day.

“Boyd, Erica, Isaac,” he said. “This is Peter. My uncle.”

Keeping his hands tucked behind him in perfect form, Peter nodded slowly to each one of them.

Of course, Erica immediately spoke up. “You’re the one who bit Scott.”

Another smile, but this one was ice cold. “Unfortunately.”

Isaac snorted, and Peter’s expression instantly warmed. “Ooh, I like them already.”

“Watch it,” Derek warned.

“If you like us, you should meet Stiles,” Isaac said.

Instantly, the energy of the room went somber. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd deflated, and Isaac blinked terrified eyes in Derek’s direction, a morse code of an apology. Derek just sighed and tipped his head to let Isaac know he was forgiven.

Peter, on the other hand, looked positively delighted. “Oh, I have. And I do. Like him, that is. Brilliant human, don’t you think?” He eyed Boyd until Boyd nodded at him, then twisted to beam at Derek. “Oh, tell me you did it, Derek. He wouldn’t take the bite from me, but he took it from you? I’m a little hurt, but it’s worth it.”

“What?” Derek felt suddenly so wrong footed that he had to shift back toward the closed door. “I—I didn’t…Stiles is still human.”

That only made Peter’s eyes glitter brighter. “ _Derek_. So progressive. I couldn’t be more proud.”

Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had swayed from their line into more of a huddle as Peter got more animated. From the middle, Erica asked, “Uh…what?”

“I tried, you know,” Peter said, looking happy to have an audience. “I knew the second I met him at the high school that he’d be _perfect_.”

Derek put up a hand. “Wait, at the _high school_? Peter, you—” he stopped. “You _remember_ that?”

“I remember everything,” Peter said quietly. Then, in a snap, he was back to storytelling. “He managed to trap me in a room in the basement with a set of keys. Not my proudest moment, but it was fascinating. He climbed right up to the door to taunt me. Of course, then I broke out and made him run for his life, but still. And that stint at the hospital was intriguing as well. Tenacious _and_ wily. Perfect pack material. It was such a shame that I was gonna die, so I figured I would make the most of it.”

If Peter _knew_ he was going to die, why would he offer Stiles the bite? All it would do was leave him a werewolf without a…

“You didn’t.”

Peter crossed his arms. “I certainly did.”

“Did what?” Isaac asked.

“He offered Stiles the bite so he would have to join my pack after I became the Alpha.”

“Wait,” Erica cried, “Stiles could’ve been a werewolf? What the hell, Derek? He would be awesome!”

Derek scowled at Erica. “He doesn’t want it. I—I tried.”

Boyd nodded slowly. “The same night you bit Jackson. When he came and helped you with your shift.”

“You bit that little brat, Jackson?” Peter asked. “The pride is fading, nephew.”

It was all becoming a bit much, and Derek took a few more steps back, bumping into the door. “This isn’t—Peter, would you shut up?”

The fact that Peter _did_ shut up only made Derek feel more awkward. “Just tell me what you want so you can leave.”

“Well, I _want_ to help,” Peter said. “But apparently you’re doing better than I thought, getting Stiles in the pack as a _human_. Plus,” he gestured to the Betas, “these three. I wholeheartedly approve. Now all you need to do is deal with that kanima and things’ll be right as rain.”

“You know about…” Derek sighed. “Of course you do. And why would I want help from a total nutjob?”

“Former nutjob, thank you very much,” Peter retorted. “And I happen to be the one who _told_ you what a kanima was, if you remember? Now does someone want to explain to me how Gerard Argent got ahold of it?”

* * *

The cord of Stiles’ crosse was soothing as he slipped it between his fingers and tied another knot. “You know when you’re drowning, you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out? It’s called voluntary apnea.” He pulled the cord tight, then moved to another section. “It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding.”

At ten, Stiles could hold his breath for thirty whole seconds. Of course, that was when he was calm, sliding through the water at the rec center like a little eel while his parents watched. He showed off his strong lungs by diving down to the bottom of the five foot section and staying there as long as possible, only coming back up when his chest was burning. His dad had always grabbed his chin when he popped out of the water and turned his head to the sides to poke at his neck.

“I’m searching for gills,” he’d always say. “Are you sure you’re not a fish?”

Stiles’ lung capacity was much smaller when he was in the middle of screaming as his head went under.

“But then, when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting. It’s not scary anymore. It’s actually kinda peaceful.”

It was the same in the pool, as Stiles sank under the water with Derek. He’d been waiting for his body to just give up. Thinking of how peaceful it would be if he could just _breathe in_ for a second.

“Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?” Morrell asked, missing the point entirely. 

It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. Nobody did, and that was how Stiles wanted it. He focused on the thought of Matt, instead of water burning his nose. “I don’t feel sorry for him.”

He’d only gotten the briefest glimpse of the office before, when he’d pulled Allison out so they could get Lydia out of the school. The bright posters on the wall were meant to encourage openness and honesty, but they just made Stiles want to curl into a ball to get away.

“Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?”

Stiles twisted his crosse and pulled it over his legs, holding himself in the seat when all he really wanted was to leave. But he’d promised his dad, and he wasn’t willing to bring back the fear in his eyes from that morning. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn’t swim doesn’t really give him the right to go killing them off one by one.”

Not to mention that _he_ hadn’t actually done most of the killing. He’d forced Jackson to.

“And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt’s computer,” he added, twisting his crosse in his lap. “And not just of her, though. I mean, he photoshopped himself _into_ these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing, you know. Like he had built this whole fake relationship.”

Allison had told him Matt was creepy, and Stiles had known he was creepy, but this was above and beyond. How could someone be so screwed up and it be totally hidden? Shouldn’t there be a scent distinct to possible serial killers, and a whole other one for guys who would stalk a teenage girl? Shouldn’t someone have been able to _tell_?

“So, yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what set him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train.”

Morrell was unfazed. She hadn’t stopped staring him in the eye since he got in the room, reminding him of Deaton and setting him on edge. “One positive thing came out of this, though, right?”

Yeah, sure, his dad had gotten his job back. Only now his job was about a thousand times more dangerous because of _Stiles_. He hadn’t wanted his dad fired, but now he didn’t want him to work either.

“Yeah, they gave his badge back right after he gave his statement. I haven’t really told anyone, though.”

“Not Scott?”

“No.”

“Have you talked to him since that night?”

Stiles went back to playing with the knots in his crosse, tugging at each one to make sure it was as tight as possible. He kept his eyes on the stick. “No, not really. I mean, he’s got his own problems to deal with. I don’t think he’s talked to Allison either, but that might be more her choice, you know.”

There was something _hard_ about her, when he caught glimpses in the halls. She never smiled, never stopped to chat with anyone. Her eyes looked straight ahead at all times, and every day after school she went straight to her dad’s car where it waited out front. “Her mom dying hit her pretty hard, but I guess it brought her and her dad closer.”

Morell swayed her chair from side to side. “Is there anyone else you could talk to? What about Mr. Whittemore, he’s part of your group, isn’t he?”

“Jackson?” Stiles chewed on his lip. “Jackson hasn’t really been himself lately. Actually, the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia is the one who seems the most normal.”

“And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?”

Stiles paused from using his teeth to drag a knot ever tighter. “Why would you ask me that?” Then, he registered what he was doing and spit the cord out of his mouth. “Uh, no. I never actually play. But, hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another one’s out sick, who knows, right?”

“You mean Isaac,” Morrell said. “He’s friends with the two runaways, Ms. Reyes and Mr. Boyd, isn’t he? You haven’t heard from either of them have you?”

The honest answer was also the safest answer. No. Not in _days_. But it hurt too much to say, so he just changed the subject. “How come you’re not taking any notes on this?”

Morrell smiled. “I do my notes after the session.”

“Your memory’s that good?”

“How about we get back to you?”

His dad had given her as much context as was safe, including most of what’d happened at the station, and his episode the night before. Stiles had agreed to talk about it, promised to say _something_ honest.

“Stiles?”

He looked up and shrugged. “I’m fine…yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen.”

Her face was blank, her body language giving him nothing to go off of as she responded, “It’s called hypervigilance. The persistent feeling of being under threat.”

“But it’s not just a feeling, though,” Stiles corrected. “It’s—it’s like it’s a panic attack, you know? Like I can’t even breathe.”

“Like you’re drowning?”

“Yeah.”

Finally, Morrell’s eyes dropped for a second, breaking that awful eye contact. She looked down at her folded hands and said quietly, “So, if you’re drowning, and you’re trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?”

He tipped his own head down. “Well, you do anyway, it’s a reflex.” There wasn’t much choice in the matter, or any choice at all.

“But, if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?”

“Not much time.”

“But more time to fight your way to the surface?”

Scowling, Stiles sighed, “I guess.”

“More time to be rescued?”

Stiles thought of the list of unanswered messages he’d sent nearly every one of his friends. Every one of his pack. “More time to be in agonizing pain! Did you forget about the part where you feel like your head’s exploding?”

Everything around him was going horrifically, his entire world crumbling to pieces. What was so wrong about wanting to just…give in? Let things happen?

Morrell had the audacity to smile softly. “If it’s about survival, isn’t a little agony worth it?”

“But what if it just gets worse? What if it’s agony now, and then…then it’s just hell later on?” he asked. What was the point in fighting when nothing was getting better?

“Then think about something Winston Churchill once said: ‘If you’re going through hell, keep going.’”

* * *

Somehow, the cabin fever that Derek had been trying to suppress in his Betas at the depot got about a thousand times worse in the house. Now that Erica and Boyd could actually _see_ the outdoors and everything they weren’t allowed to have, it was all they wanted, and they wanted it without Derek escorting them.

“It’s just a walk! We aren’t gonna go into town or anything,” Erica begged. “Derek, _please_ , I’m gonna freak out. I need to get out for a while. We’ll stay away from any human scents, and we’ll only be gone an hour.”

At Derek’s scowl, she folded her hands together. “Half an hour?”

He glanced over her shoulder at Boyd. Even he was antsy, shifting from foot to foot and glancing out the window every few seconds.

They’d been so patient and obedient, and Derek felt bad enough forcing them to live in a burnt mausoleum of a house. Groaning, he closed his eyes. “If I howl—”

“We’ll run home,” Boyd promised.

“No flashy colors, wear your jackets,” Derek ordered. “No _heels_.”

He opened his eyes to Erica’s hands twitching as she visibly restrained herself from jumping at him. The effort was appreciated more than she knew. “Thank you, thank you! We’ll be back!”

They were out the front door in minutes, laughing and sprinting out of sight like they’d just been let out of a cage. That’s what Derek was doing, wasn’t it? Imprisoning them? Erica and Boyd had _family_ that they weren’t allowed to see for the foreseeable future, and they hadn’t been anywhere remotely public in weeks.

But then…

“He called it home,” Derek muttered.

Without the layers of soundproofing that’d burned up between all the walls, Derek could hear Isaac’s response from his little hideout on the roof as though he was standing right next to him.

“Yeah? What about it?”

Derek looked up at the ceiling. “This isn’t…this isn’t a home.”

“It was yours. That makes it ours. That’s how it works, right?” Isaac sighed. There was a soft creak of wood, and a few pieces of roofing slid and fell off the edge of the building. “We’re not going anywhere, Derek. Deal with it.”

True to their word, twenty-five minutes later they came waltzing back into the clearing, smelling like exhaustion, happiness, and a sappy satisfaction that Derek ignored immediately. It didn’t stop Isaac from crowing at them in his nest once he caught the scent.

“I owe myself ten bucks!” he cried.

Erica’s face was bright red, but she frowned up at him. “What does that even mean?”

Derek jumped off the porch and turned around in time to see him shrug. “I made a bet with myself and I just won. I can smell the lipgloss on you from here, Boyd!” he leered over the railing, wiggling it without putting any of his weight on it.

At least Derek knew what he needed to teach them next.

They spent two hours practicing tuning out and ignoring smells and sounds after the most embarrassingly parental ‘privacy talk’ that Derek could remember before Isaac huffed a sigh and muttered a quiet apology to Erica and Boyd. It was worth the awkwardness of the conversation to watch Erica tackle him to the floor and plant kisses on his forehead and cheeks until he stank of her lipgloss too.

Peter arrived at sunset, carrying a massive canvas bag over his shoulder and actually looking weighed down by it. Still weakened, then. “I bring gifts,” he called from the porch. “Though, I’m pretty sure only Derek will like them.”

Derek nodded to Boyd from his spot in the living room, but it was Isaac who went out to open the door. “Are those books?” he asked.

“Well, aren’t you a little mini-Derek,” Peter said, handing over the bag. He directed the next sentence at Derek. “I see why you picked him.”

Derek watched Peter carefully as he sidled into the living room. No matter how much closer to the pre-fire version of Peter he was, it didn’t change the fact that he’d killed a half a dozen humans and Laura. Not to mention that he’d put his claws through Derek’s own chest and beat him to a pulp in the hospital. “That was an accident,” he said calmly. “I didn’t know he was a nerd until he started stealing my books.”

He relished in Isaac’s little huff, and stood up to go look at what Peter had brought. “Where did you get these?”

Peter sighed and leaned against a wall. “Where do you think? They’re not much, but it was what we didn’t bother to keep in the house. None of the really good ones are there. Still, might be something useful.”

It was generous, Peter retrieving the texts from their vault when Derek couldn’t get into town. The kindness only made Derek angry. “What do you want?”

“Derek, I already told you. To help.”

Erica was the first to growl, picking up on what Derek couldn’t keep out of his scent since she was closest. Isaac and Boyd followed soon after, circling to get behind Derek’s shoulders. Peter straightened up. “Come on, Derek. We’ve been over this.”

Derek glared down at the ground for a second, trying to reign himself in. When that didn’t work, he barked, “Boyd, take them for a walk. Be back by sunrise.”

“No,” Isaac argued. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“ _Isaac_ ,” Derek said. He didn’t put any force behind it, just exasperation.

He looked at where Isaac had crossed his arms. “No.”

Derek swung his head over. “Boyd—”

“I’ll take Erica,” Boyd offered, “but I’m not dragging Isaac.”

Holding Erica’s hand, he led her out the door and toward the trees. Two Betas down, the most fragile one to go. “Isaac,” Derek tried again. “Upstairs then, and stay there.”

“Derek—”

“ _Now_. Please.”

He waited until Isaac had stomped up the stairs and out of sight before cracking his fist against Peter’s jaw.

Peter went flying, his body crashing into the other side of the archway without a shred of resistance. He straightened up slowly, his hand on his chin and a trickle of blood running from his lip.

“Why are you here?” Derek asked, stepping forward.

“To _help_ ,” Peter repeated.

Derek got both fists in Peter’s shirt and threw him backward into the railing of the stairs. A few of the rails shattered as his back hit them, and Peter landed face down on the floor.

“What do you _want?_ ” he asked again.

Peter raised his head and wheezed a little. “I’m not lying, neph—”

It was more satisfying to hit Peter in the face when his head was against a floor. Derek twisted him like a rag doll until he was on his back and pulled back for another punch. “Don’t call me that. Why are you here?”

“To help you.” His jaw snapped to the side as Derek’s knuckles made contact, the skin purpling in seconds as Peter’s reduced healing kicked in.

“You want to help me? Bring Laura back.”

“I can’t.”

Another hit. Peter wasn’t even fighting back. He’d knocked Derek out, broken bones and given him black eyes, tossed him through a glass window and used his back to smash through plaster, and now he wouldn’t fight back. “Then you should’ve stayed dead.”

Peter’s nose was bleeding profusely, turning his voice into a congested whine. “I know. But I didn’t. So, tell me, Derek. Is this helping? Because I’m happy to be your punching bag if it’s that cathartic for you.”

The simple resignation of his tone made something combust in Derek’s chest. Gripping Peter’s shirt, he yanked him up and roared full force into his face. Finally, Peter curled up and covered his face with his arms. The full power of an Alpha roar was hard enough on pack members and enemies. On an Omega it was excruciating.

But the roar took all Derek’s conviction with it. A small shove was enough to send Peter skidding back along the burnt hardwood, then Derek shuffled away and sat against the wall under the stairs.

“You did this,” he rasped, arms propped on his knees. “You brought the hunters to town with that stupid deer. You killed Laura and left her body in the woods for them to find and desecrate. You bit Scott. You made Gerard show up because you killed K—” Derek broke off and buried his face in his arms, just breathing in the dark.

It was supposed to feel good, knowing Kate was dead. He’d expected relief when Peter killed her. Instead, all he got was even more irrational terror and an aversion to touch that made him _burn_. He knew she wasn’t there anymore, wasn’t going to be able to hurt him or look at him or _touch_ him, so why was he still so terrified all the time?

“There are a lot of things I regret,” Peter muttered from his spot, not even bothering to sit up. “But I will _not_ regret tearing that demented bitch’s throat out.”

It took a few minutes of silence, with Peter a good five feet away and for once keeping his mouth shut, for Derek to ask, “What do you want from me?”

Because everyone wanted something. Kate wanted a playtoy. Gerard wanted a trophy. Scott wanted a tool. Deaton wanted something Derek couldn’t even put a name to, but he wanted it nonetheless.

Peter’s jeans scraped on the wood. “Derek, you’re a werewolf for fuck’s sake. You know I’m not lying. I _told_ you, you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to like me, but unless you chase me out of this town yourself, I’m not going anywhere. You can either let me help or kick me out. Either way, you are the only pack I have left and I’m not _leaving_. Deal with it.”

“We aren’t pack.”

“But we are family, and you can’t escape that, no matter how much you hate me.”

The soft click of Peter’s boots was inordinately loud in the dark room, getting crisper as he moved toward the studier planks near the front door. “Enjoy the books. I’ll be back tomorrow in case you need anything. Tell your Betas I said goodnight.” Just as he opened the door, Peter added, “Alpha looks good on you, Derek. Much better than it did on me, anyway.”

Lost and frustrated, Derek wandered up the stairs to the bedroom once Peter was properly gone, then turned and headed for the other staircase when it was empty. Isaac was on the roof again, his favorite spot since he’d discovered it during his exploration of the building.

“This was my mother’s balcony,” Derek said absently, standing in the skeletal doorway. It was full dark now, with a cool wind to keep the ash out of his nose.

Isaac didn’t move from his spot. “Sometimes family is garbage, and you’re stuck with them anyway. It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.” Derek took a small step forward and sank into a crouch, scanning the trees for any sign that Boyd and Erica were returning. They’d likely heard his roar, but he wasn’t sure if they would come running, or stay away until sunrise like he’d asked.

“But you get to choose your pack,” Isaac noted. He was holding a book, but it was one he’d grabbed from Derek’s stash, not Stiles’ room. “I think pack is better than family.”

Derek didn’t argue, or point out that for most of his life, there hadn’t been a difference between the two. He just let the words sink into his skin and waited for the rest of his pack to come home.

— 

They got back more than an hour after Isaac had gone down to sleep, and Derek met them outside the house when he heard the pounding of their hearts.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t hear them?” Boyd asked, his feet crunching over stray twigs.

Erica was wide-eyed and dazed. “It was unbelievable.”

“What was?” Derek asked. “How far did you go?”

Boyd turned to look back at the way they’d come. “Pretty far, but we stayed away from town. It was insane, there must’ve been a dozen of them, maybe more.”

“More _what_?”

“Wolves,” Erica breathed. “Werewolves. Another pack. They could help us, maybe scare the hunters away!”

Though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see or hear back to the space that Erica and Boyd had been, Derek’s eyes shot to the trees. “You met another pack?”

Erica shook her head. “No, but we heard them howling. Derek, isn’t this great? Jackson doesn’t stand a chance against us if we have another pack to back us up.”

Slowly, Derek brought his attention back to the two of them. “You didn’t see them?”

“No,” Boyd confirmed.

“Then you have no idea how many there were.”

“Like we said,” Erica answered, “there were tons. The howling was intense.”

Derek frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything. Have you heard of the Beau Geste effect? If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift in tone, two wolves can sound like twenty. It could’ve been a couple Omegas.”

Gesturing, he turned and went back into the house toward the pile of books he’d been poking through in the dark. Erica and Boyd followed, but Boyd was stiff with tension. “But why would they do that?”

“To intimidate you, to draw you in, for fun. There’s a lot of reasons.”

“If it really is just two wolves, shouldn’t we warn them?” Erica asked. “What if the Argents catch them?”

“Then they’ll cut them in half, which is the same thing they’d do if they found you wandering around looking for other wolves. It’s too dangerous. Their howling could’ve drawn the hunters to them already. You were smart to come back.”

Neither of them looked pleased by the compliment. Boyd spoke first, quiet but insistent. “Derek, we can’t just let them get killed. We could go back right now and warn them. We’d be back in less than an hour.”

“No!” Derek snapped. “What part of ‘it’s too dangerous’ did you miss? It’s not our fault if they weren’t paying enough attention to realize Beacon Hills is under attack.”

“What if they were?” Erica argued. “What if they came because they knew the hunters were here and they wanted to help?”

Derek sighed down at his useless books. “Then they’re fools. The Argents wiped us out the last time they were in town, it’s pointless to try and fight them outright. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Boyd growled shortly. “Then what are _we_ going to do? Just keep hiding here until they come find us and we end up dead too?”

Derek had been asking himself the same question for days, and though the answer he’d come up with felt like carving what was left of his heart out with a spoon, it was the only one available. “No,” he muttered. “We’re leaving.”

Silence filled the room, thick and rolling like smoke that would inevitably choke Derek.

“What?” Isaac had come down the stairs without Derek noticing. Derek wasn’t surprised their arguing had woken him up.

Erica’s scent turned salty and sad even before the tears started gathering in the corners of her eyes. “But…Derek, my parents are here.”

“My grandma,” Boyd added.

“I know, but it’s safer for them if we go. We can draw the hunters out of town and send them the wrong direction.”

Isaac came up to stand with the others, his hair mussed and his sleep shirt hanging off his shoulder. “Where would we go?”

“New York. It’s big, easy to hide in.”

“What about school?” Erica asked.

“It might have to wait, but eventually we can get you your GED’s. Once you’re eighteen and can’t be claimed as runaways.”

“That’s what you did,” Isaac said, “isn’t it? After the fire, you ran.”

Derek bit back a snarl and tossed his book to the side. “No, I survived. Do you think I _want_ to do this? If it were just me…I’d stay. But I’m not getting you killed because I made the stupid mistake of painting targets on your backs!”

His words cut so much deeper than he’d meant them to. Erica started sobbing and growling at the same time, Boyd dragged her backward with his arms around her shoulders, glaring golden daggers Derek’s way, and Isaac ran barefoot out the front door.

Derek wanted to scream at the way his attention was split.

“Isaac! Isaac, come back!” He turned to Erica and Boyd and took a step toward them, only for Boyd to growl at him. “I—I’m coming back. I didn’t—I’m coming back.”

Derek was fast as an Alpha, faster still when he was running through land he’d grown up on, but he had nothing on a terrified teenager. Everything he’d told Isaac about scents and ways they could be covered up or followed was being used against him. Isaac’s scent led straight to a stream, then disappeared completely, leaving Derek to choose randomly between upstream and downstream. He picked upstream, since it led further into the forest, and ignored the water that splashed over the tops of his boots and soaked into his socks. “I—” Derek cut himself off. Shouting for Isaac was dangerous if someone heard him, hunter or human. So he only called at just above speaking tone, scenting the air for anything familiar and finding absolutely nothing.

The sun was rising as he returned to the house, and he knew before he got to the porch that there was no one inside. Erica and Boyd had left too, even going so far as to grab their bags. They were gone. Not because they didn't want him, but because he’d chased them away.

* * *

Showing up to practices and keeping his mouth shut for the last few weeks had softened up Finstock, allowing Stiles to join Scott on the bench in his uniform. Scott didn’t bring up the weird silence between them recently, just asked, “Your dad coming?”

“Yeah, he’s already here.” Stiles gestured behind them toward where his dad was seated on the bleachers, a timid Ms. McCall at his side. “Suited up and everything, just in case.”

“You seen Allison?”

“No,” Stiles said. He looked around at the crowd. “You seen Lydia?”

He couldn’t deny that part of him had been hoping she would show up, if not in a friend capacity, then just because it was lacrosse. Surely, whatever had Lydia so upset wouldn’t be enough to keep her from coming to the Championship game?

Scott shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Do you know what’s going on with her?” Stiles asked. “I mean, what even _happened_ at the party? She won’t talk to me.”

“No, man,” Scott answered. At Stiles’ frown he added, “I mean, I haven’t really talked to her. I’ve been busy.”

Stiles tried not to scowl, and when he couldn’t manage to keep it down he just turned his face away. “At Deaton’s.”

“Yeah, he’s been helping me with…stuff.”

“Werewolf stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles sighed and twisted his gloves in his hands. “Scott, I know I was kind of useless at the station, getting paralyzed and not healing as fast as you guys. I—I know I can’t do the things you do. But don’t cut me out, okay? I wanna help, you know?”

A big hand clamped down on Stiles’ shoulder padding. “Glad you’re in the helping mood, Bilinski, now shut up and get on the field. You’re in for Greenburg.”

Brain short circuiting, Stiles didn’t move, just jerked in place. “What? What happened to Greenburg?”

“What happened to Greenburg?” Finstock repeated, scoffing, “He sucks, you suck….slightly less.”

“I’m playing?” Stiles checked. “On the field? With the team?”

Finstock blinked at him. “ _Yes_. Unless you’d rather…play with yourself?” He grimaced immediately at the accidental innuendo.

Stiles squinted and slowly rose, internally relishing in Finstock’s wrong-footedness. “I’m gonna walk away,” he said, repeating what Finstock had told him after the “chain incident.”

Catching on, Finstock just wagged a finger at him. “That’s good. That’s a wise choice, Bilinski.”

It was more than surreal to shove his gloves and helmet on, grab his crosse, and go out to the field. There were actual people in the stands, and there were actual opponents at the other end of the field, not his own team trying to bury him in the turf.

He knew where Greenburg was supposed to be, so he took the spot and bobbed his head at his teammates. Since most gestures were swallowed under the layers of padding and their helmets, they all had to emphasize whatever they were trying to do. For example, in goal, Danny tilted his head to the side a good 45 degrees in a classic “What the fuck?” movement. In return, Stiles just put his hands up in a shrug.

Stiles was on first line, and it wasn’t even because everyone else was injured. Greenburg wasn’t hurt, Stiles could see him seething on the bench with all the other guys that Finstock could’ve pulled onto the field. But he hadn’t. He’d pulled Stiles.

At least something about his life was going right.

* * *

Derek was pacing the living room when Peter showed up the next evening.

“If you’re planning to beat me up again, at least let me take my shirt off so it doesn’t get ruined. I had to throw the other one out and I can’t exactly go shopping for new ones at the moment,” Peter called from outside. After a second he came closer. “I’m going to assume that the lack of fists flying at me means I’m good to come in, yes? Good.”

The front door opened, and Derek directed his pacing so it led him toward the back corner of the room where he’d shoved the loveseat that was missing its cushions. Sinking onto it, he put his face in his hands and pretended that if he sat really still, Peter would just leave.

Peter’s footsteps didn’t go far before stopping, then skidding gently as though he was turning in a circle. “Now, I’m sure my hearing isn’t _that_ bad. Did you send the kids away again? I see even your mini-me left this time.”

Derek couldn’t control the choking sound that escaped his throat.

Immediately, Peter came into the living room. “Derek, where are they?”

Derek just shook his head.

“Derek,” Peter said again, voice sharp.

Finally, Derek pulled his hands from his face and looked up at his uncle. He knew that the redness around his eyes hadn’t faded because they still burned with tears and hadn’t stopped for hours. If Peter wanted to take back the Alpha spark, now was the time, as Derek couldn’t be bothered to even flinch when Peter came storming up to him.

“What happened? Where are they?”

“I don’t know. I—I can’t find them,” Derek whispered.

Peter growled and turned to the room again. “How did the Argents know you’re here? Why can’t I smell them?”

“Peter,” Derek muttered, coughing for a second. “The hunters didn’t take them. They ran.”

“They _what_?”

Derek ran a hand through his hair and found himself looking up at Peter like he had as a kid, when Laura or Lucas were bullying him or when he’d made his mom so mad she’d banished him to the backyard while she worked. “They ran away. I told them they were a mistake, and they ran. I wasn’t—it wasn’t what I meant. I can’t find them.”

His uncle’s face twisted with confusion. “Derek, you’re an Alpha. There is no reason you shouldn’t be able to follow their scents.”

Shooting up to his feet, Derek snarled, “I _tried_. Isaac ran for water and Erica and Boyd wiped their scent over every damn tree in the Preserve. I can’t tell what direction they went! I already checked all of their houses, I checked the depot, I checked the damn warehouse from the rave. I can’t _find_ them.”

Peter’s lip twitched, even though his eyes stayed serious. “Only you would train your Betas so well that they managed to hide from _you_.”

“This isn’t funny—”

“No, it’s not!” Peter snapped viciously, cutting Derek off. “While I know you’ve never been particularly silver-tongued, I hadn’t realized that your social ineptitude had gotten so much worse over the last six years that you would even _consider_ telling your newly bitten wolves, _children_ who rely on _you_ , that you regret making them what they are.”

The fight went out of Derek in an instant, and he sagged back down to the couch. “I wasn’t saying _they_ were the mistake, I didn’t mean to—”

Peter tutted. “I know you didn’t. You’ve always had too much heart for your own good, Derek, however out of touch with it you’ve become. But these are teenagers. They don’t care what you _mean_ or what you say. They care what you do. Be sure to remember that once we’ve dragged them back here.”

“How am I supposed to find them if I can’t catch their scents?”

“With psychology,” Peter said simply. He walked over to the destroyed television set, the antique, boxy one that’d belonged to Derek’s grandmother, and sat down on top of it. “Did they leave together?”

The prospect of help, whoever it was from, made it a little easier for Derek to wipe off his face and lean back, resting his head against the wall. “Isaac left right away, and Boyd and Erica were gone when I got back.”

“Right, we’ll start with the clingy one then.”

Derek huffed. “Isaac’s not clingy.”

“That boy would velcro himself to you if he could, and you know it,” Peter argued. “But that’s besides the point…unless it isn’t. Why exactly is he so attached to you?”

Peter may have died before Isaac came into the picture, but surely he remembered what’d happened while he possessed Lydia? “You don’t know? But Lydia—”

“What happened with the girl was far less in my control than you think, Derek,” Peter scolded. “It wasn’t as though I was actually _there_. It was merely a simulacrum, an echo of my thoughts that nudged her in the right direction. I only retrieved _my_ memories from her after the ritual was complete, I didn’t take any of hers.”

Derek frowned. “She disappeared into the woods for two days, how is that a nudge?”

“Once again, besides the point. What’s made Isaac such a limpet?”

Even Erica and Boyd didn’t know the _whole_ story about Isaac’s dad, just that Isaac wasn’t all that miffed he was dead. It wasn’t something Isaac wanted people to know, but if it would help Derek find him…

“I met him the same night Lydia went missing. There was this Omega—”

“Derek, we are on a time limit. Shorthand version, please.”

“His dad was abusive. The ‘lock him in a freezer to punish him’ kind of abusive. I gave Isaac the bite, and the next day the kanima ripped his dad apart, so I adopted him. I’m all he’s got.”

Peter squinted. “So where does he go when he isn’t with you? When you make him mad or deprive him of candy, whatever it is, where does he go?”

Groaning, Derek rubbed his hand over his face. “Stiles. He goes to Stiles.”

“Perfect,” Peter said, rising to stand and clapping his hands together. “I haven’t gotten to say hi to him yet. Call him.”

“I can’t.”

Peter frowned and put his hands on his hips. “And why not? For that matter, why hasn’t Stiles been here? He’s part of your pack, he should be helping you.”

Wincing, Derek looked away. He hadn’t realized Peter had so much faith in Stiles, though his offer of the bite should’ve given it away. “He can’t be trusted. His loyalty is with Scott, not us.”

A palm smacked the side of Derek’s temple and he jerked to his feet, growling. Peter growled back.

“Are you stupid? That boy stayed in a hospital with a literally psychotic, homicidal Alpha well after he could’ve run, and I doubt it was because he wanted to have a chat with _me_. I nearly killed the love of his life and he _still_ told me that if I’d just asked he would’ve helped me find you. Which he then did anyway, I might add, and don’t think I didn’t smell your blood in that hideous Jeep of his. Now, you’re telling me you managed to get the only competent human in this town to join your pack, and then you _cut him out_?”

“It’s not that simple!” Derek argued. “I tried to have him in the pack, and he disobeyed my every order. He ran out into the woods with Scott while there were hunters searching the preserve. He defended Scott after Scott attacked and nearly killed my Betas, and he questioned my authority at every single turn. Even after Scott hung up on him while we were trapped in a pool by the kanima for over two hours, after he nearly _drowned_ , he abandoned his pack to go to Scott the moment that idiot showed up. He never even _told_ Scott that he’d joined my pack. Are you seeing a theme? That _human_ isn’t pack. He’s just Scott’s lackey.”

Knowing that hadn’t made it hurt any less when Stiles had started tugging at him again on Wednesday night, after Peter had left. There’d been something _wrong_ about it, the sensation flickering on and off for almost an hour before it faded away. He’d had to go stand in the trees to wait for it to stop, trying to keep himself from running for Stiles’ house in case it was a trap.

Peter’s frown hadn’t faded, but it did soften. “Derek, just because he’s human doesn’t—”

“He used me. Just like the others.”

“What? How?”

“Scott’s been working for Gerard, feeding him information about us. He pretended to join the pack and the only reason I _let_ him was because Stiles had been shouting in my ear about it for a month. Promising that Scott would fall in line. That he _wanted_ to be pack. So I said yes, and now I have no idea how much Gerard knows about us. The only thing I could do was bring Erica, Isaac, and Boyd here and keep them from contacting Stiles. Tell me again how humans aren’t all bad, when the human _you_ picked out for me is working with hunters.”

For a moment, Derek just watched Peter fume silently. Then Peter put a fist through the wall nearest him and growled, “We can deal with that later. Does Isaac know that Stiles is a traitor?”

Derek shook his head and crossed his arms. “No, I just asked him not to contact him and he agreed.”

“So, he would still default to Stiles if he wanted to get away from you?”

“Probably.”

“Then he’ll be at the game.”

Derek froze. “What game?”

Peter scoffed, but it was hard and tense. “The lacrosse Championship game that’s happening right now. The whole town has been positively _buzzing_ about it. Isn’t Stiles on the team? And Scott, for that matter?”

If Isaac was with Stiles, and Stiles was with Scott, then the Argents could already have him. The bonds that Derek could feel were weakened, but they were still there, and there was no terror coming from Isaac’s. Yet. It was all he had to go off of, and Derek clung to it. He got his jacket on and walked over to the door before Peter stopped him.

“Woah, you’re not going,” Peter said. “There’s no point in getting Isaac if you get captured and killed in the process. The hunters are all looking for you, and that game is going to be prime hunting grounds.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Derek seethed. “What if Gerard uses Jackson on them? He’s on the team too.”

“ _Jackson_ is the kanima? Are you kidding me, Derek?”

“Peter!”

Peter sighed. “They’re looking for you. Not me. I’ll go get Isaac, and you keep looking for the others. Meet us at the school when the game is over and everyone’s left. Then we deal with the traitors and _then_ Jackson.”

He strutted out of the house and into the clearing, not looking back as he called, “Pace yourself. It’s going to be a busy night.”

* * *

Stiles was _ready_. He was focused and centered and cool as a cucumber, and ready to make a goal. The last three times he’d screwed up didn’t have to count, so long as he made the next one. His chances of getting the ball again were pretty slim at this point, though, since no one was passing to him anymore. In fact, they were all keeping the entire game as far from him as possible.

It only bruised his pride. A lot.

He didn’t know what was wrong. Stiles had made these passes and goals a thousand times, in practice and out, but now that it actually mattered it was like he’d never held a crosse before.

After the second time that his own teammate risked a shot all the way across the field rather than pass to him, Stiles got the message and hung back. They were two points down with only five minutes to go and maybe if he stopped getting in the way, Beacon Hills would still have a chance at winning.

So, he watched from afar, down near the enemy goal, as his teammates struggled to retrieve the ball from number 16 before he could make the shot. The guy was like a freaking freight train though, shoveling through his teammates until someone finally just threw themselves at his front. 16 went down and the ball went flying.

Stiles watched it hit the ground, roll down the field, and come to a gentle stop at his feet. Somehow, no one had noticed that it was there. The opposing Beavers and his own teammates were searching the field near the other goal.

Slowly, Stiles hooked his net just under the ball and scooped it up. Easy, chill, just like practice.

That feeling disappeared when a perfect wall of lacrosse players came running at him from across the green. There was no one to pass the ball to. He was going to get _crushed_.

Stiles turned and ran, screaming as he made his way unimpeded toward the opponent’s goal. Their goalie was just staring at him in shock, and Stiles stopped a few feet away.

“Stilinski!” Finstock shouted from the bench. “Shoot it! Shoot the ball. Shoot it, you idiot!”

But Stiles couldn’t move. The players were getting closer and he was totally frozen.

Another shout rang out. “Shoot it!”

That was Lydia, and it was reflex to do what she told him to, so Stiles twisted and shot the ball at the net.

It crashed into the back without so much as a twitch from the goalie, and the crowd started cheering.

“I scored a goal?” Stiles breathed. He turned to Jameson, who’d finally caught up to him. “I scored a goal?”

Jameson was cheering too, and Stiles took that as a yes. Throwing his hands up, he shouted, “I scored a goal!”

He looked over at the benches where he’d heard Lydia’s voice and sure enough, she was standing right next to his dad and Ms. McCall. She was beaming at him. Hell, his _dad_ was beaming at him.

About a dozen hands clapped him on the shoulders as he followed them to reset for the next play. Teammates that he wasn’t sure even knew his name were congratulating him.

The next time the ball landed in his crosse, it was practically easy. Stiles didn’t trip or flail. He just feinted and twisted his way through the opposing players until he was back in front of the goal. This time the goalie was ready, but Stiles shot just over his shoulder through his weak spot and the crowd went wild again.

They were tied now, because of Stiles.

It was exhilarating to finally get to use all the things he’d practiced in a game. All of his work was paying off, and the energy around him was infectious. His third goal went in just as smooth as his teammates backed and guarded him to give him a clear shot. And then, it was over.

There were only a few seconds left on the clock, which meant…they won. Beacon Hills won, and Stiles was part of the reason for that. After two seasons of sitting on the bench, he’d made three goals in his first game.

Stiles whooped and shouted along with the rest of his team, getting jostled into the middle of their chest bumping and group hugs. So many gloves clapped him on the shoulder, Stiles was sure he’d bruise. And the whole time, his dad and Lydia were clapping from their seats.

Then, everything went dark.

The hypervigilance that Morrell had labelled for him hadn’t gone away, so there was barely a second between the moment the floodlights surrounding the field went out and when Stiles began to shove through the players to get to the bleachers. After such bright lights, Stiles was night-blinded, unable to see even the outlines of other people and only knowing he’d found one when he walked into them.

His eyes had just begun to adjust as he got to the bleachers, where the crowd was scrambling down the stairs, heedless of the people they knocked over onto the metal.

Opening his mouth to shout for his dad, Stiles choked as a length of cloth was shoved between his teeth and pulled tight behind his head. Something sharp pressed into his jugular and Stiles reared back from it, following his captor backwards behind the bleachers and toward the parking lot. As he was shoved into a backseat, Stiles watched the floodlights come back on, illuminating a mass of people out on the field and around the benches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter's a wee bit shorter than the others, but that's to make up for the _really_ long last chapter. It'll all be worth it, I promise.  
> Writers Notes:  
> I know this sounds cruel, but I felt like there needed to be a more distinct reason for Stiles to be in the counselor's office talking to Morrell. If it was just bc he was at the station, then Scott should've been there too? I dunno, it just seemed random. So, I added the panic attack as a sort of...inciting incident that would explain him showing up in Morrell's office.  
> In order for Peter to come back to life, he had to bite Lydia, which meant he KNEW he was gonna die before he went to the house. So, why offer Stiles the bite when he KNEW he would die, and that Derek would probably be the one to take the Alpha power from him?  
> BOOM. Peter thinks Stiles is pack material, #confirmed.  
> I was really...not a fan of Finstock's constant innuendos and the completely random reference to Stiles' masturbatory habits (I know a lot of people found it funny, but it didn't click with me). So, I switched things around and made what Finstock said come across as totally inappropriate..you know, like it _was_?  
> Yeah, that's right, Stiles got picked for first line bc of his abilities, not because Finstock didn't have another choice. This was the beginning of the game, before Isaac started knocking their players to the ground. Finstock picked STILES. That's CANON.  
> Also, yeah, I removed the whole thing with Isaac purposefully injuring the entire team in order to get Scott on the field. He's supposed to be a fucking runaway in canon, and out sick in my fic. He would never have been allowed on the field!
> 
> Anywho, I _cannot_ believe that next week I'm posting the last chapter of this. I just...what even? How have we gotten this far? I'm excited and terrified in equal measure. I'll see you guys next Saturday!


	13. Episode 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here! We're here! I can't believe we're here! The last chapter of Season 2! Gahhh. I'll leave the mushy stuff to the end notes. In the meantime, here are the content warnings for this chapter. PLEASE take them seriously. Also, as a general warning, this chapter is gonna _hurt_. For _both_ of them. Keep tissues nearby.  
> Content Warning: Explicit Description of Violence/Torture  
> Content Warning: Reference to Kate and Kate/Derek.

The pain started only a few minutes into Derek’s search, as he headed for Boyd’s house to see if he’d gone home for even a moment. He’d given up on just running around and was in the car when it hit. It was a two-step of agony, starting off strong and then doubling in seconds until Derek had to pull over.

It was like someone had a hand in his intestines and wanted to pull them out of him right through the skin. Begging for help and attention, Erica and Boyd’s bonds were flaring with fear, and Derek had no idea where to find them.

Nearly blinded by pain, Derek retraced his route to get to the other side of town where the high school was, stopping every few blocks to try and wrestle the ache down far enough for him to think. Just the one bond pulling when Stiles was in danger had been horrible, but this was hell. There were so many options for what could’ve gone wrong. The most obvious one was the hunters, but he couldn’t dismiss the thought that it might be something else.

If they’d gone near those wolves in the woods…a couple Omegas would make quick work of them. An entire pack would have Erica and Boyd at their mercy in seconds. They had no guarantee that it would be a friendly pack. It was just as likely that they came to Beacon Hills to take over because they knew Talia Hale wasn’t in charge anymore, though why they’d wait six years to do it, Derek didn’t know.

Or, they could be in danger from the world in general. The preserve had a lot of unsafe places to get stuck, ridges and fast flowing sections of river that could do a lot of damage, even to a werewolf. If one of them, or both, had fallen…

He couldn’t _do_ this. He needed help.

Derek wasn’t too far gone that he would park in the actual school parking lot, but leaving the Camaro a block away meant he had to walk through the alleys and into the treeline so he could circle the field. Luckily, the game looked to be over. Only a couple stragglers were still packing up their things, and as he snuck closer, there were only a few heartbeats in the locker rooms.

Just outside the back door, the pain lifted for a split second, then crashed back over him in waves. Groaning, Derek leaned on one side of the door as he pulled the other open and slid inside.

“Derek?”

Isaac’s voice, safe and uninjured made Derek’s knees give out with relief. He hit the floor in a slump and reached out a clawed hand to try and prop himself back up.

“Peter!” Isaac shouted. Derek could feel him kneeled on the tile, the heat of him close and comforting.

Another person knelt beside him, his scent warning Derek it was Peter less than a second before his hand came down on his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t touch him!” Isaac snapped, and suddenly the hand was gone.

“Fine, you do it then. He needs to know you’re safe.”

“Derek doesn’t—”

“I don’t care, you’re his pack. Now grab his hand!”

Long fingers stretched around Derek’s right wrist and held on gently, even as Derek groaned and buried his face in the same elbow against the floor.

Peter was still close but he didn’t touch. “Derek, which one of them is pulling?”

Derek twitched the hand he had held out until two fingers pointed outward.

“What? Two? What does that mean?” Isaac asked, squeezing a little harder. For once, the touch wasn’t unwelcome.

“It means both Erica and Boyd are in danger.”

Scott’s presence was nearby, jittery and frustrated. “What the hell are you talking about? What’s wrong with him?”

Suddenly, another bond lit up and sent a bolt of fiery pain through Derek that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for. He cried out and slammed his left hand into the concrete so hard his fist made a small crater. He held out the two fingers again, then added another.

“Three?” Isaac breathed.

Peter’s response was low and deadly. “Three.”

* * *

Stiles hadn’t been in Allison’s house before, just had that little moment at the front door with her mom on Scott’s first full moon. It was gorgeous, lots of shiny hardwood and delicately colored walls. The door to the basement was bland in comparison, and Stiles said so, heedless of the crushing grip the hunter leading him had on his shoulder.

It tightened in response to his smart-alecking and the guy opened the door without saying anything.

“Ow,” Stiles muttered as he was pushed down one stair. On the next he said again, “Ow!”

The guy shoved and Stiles tumbled down the steps, bashing his chin on a stair and landing face down on the concrete floor. No one had turned a light on, so when the hunter closed the door, Stiles was left in complete darkness.

He got to his feet as fast as he dared, holding onto his forehead when things got a little woozy. Tipping back to lean on the wall helped, and Stiles brushed off his jersey. They’d taken his pads during the car ride, leaving him horribly exposed.

A small noise made him freeze and strain his eyes to see what else was in the room with him. Then came another, and Stiles flattened himself against the wall and reached around for the switch he’d seen at the bottom of the stairs.

The light snapped on to a scene from _Dexter_. Erica and Boyd were strung up by their wrists only a few feet away. Their toes barely touched the ground, and black tape covered their wrists and wrapped around their faces over their mouths. Red wires twined around the tape and their waists like tinsel.

Their eyes were wide and terrified, and Stiles’ face went cold from the lack of blood flow. “Oh god.”

Erica whimpered again, prompting Stiles to come forward. Before he could get close she and Boyd both started making noises and trying to lean away from him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I got you, but you have to be quiet.” He shushed them as he reached up to take the tape off, and yelped at the massive shock he got the moment his fingers touched it.

The lights around them flickered while Stiles shook his hand out.

“They were trying to warn you,” Gerard said, stepping down the stairs delicately. “It’s electrified.”

Stiles turned and stood in front of them, blocking them at least partially from Gerard’s view. “What are you doing with them?”

Gerard reached the floor and leaned against the wall. “At the moment, just keeping them comfortable and out of the way. There’s no point in torturing them, they won’t give Derek up. The instinct to protect their Alpha’s too strong.”

His smile was similar to Deaton’s, actually, like he knew more than everyone else in the room. Always ten steps ahead.

Stiles swallowed. “Okay. So, what are you doing with me?”

Gerard chuckled, “That’s the question, now isn’t it? Now, you’re going to end up bloody either way, but I can’t quite decide who the message will be for. Scott, or Derek?”

“D-Derek?” Stiles stuttered. “Why would hurting me mean anything to Derek? He—he hates humans.”

“And yet anyone with eyes can see you’re part of his pack.” Gerard stepped forward. “A human in a werewolf pack. You’re a traitor to your own species, you know that, boy? Of course, we didn’t know at first. In fact, my daughter had only narrowed down the possibilities for who was the second Beta to Mr. McCall, Mr. Whittemore, and _you_ , by the time I got to town. Scott was a little wild on the field, but _you_ have a whole history of violence, don’t you? It was quite the tossup.”

Scowling, Stiles straightened his back. “Yeah, well, Kate always was a bit slow.”

He didn’t see the hit coming, and it hit _hard._ Gerard’s rings scraped across Stiles’ cheek as he was backhanded and he tumbled to the floor to escape the momentum. He hadn’t finished rolling himself over when Gerard kicked him in the side and planted a boot on his neck once he was on his back. It was exactly the way Allison had taught Stiles to do it.

“You do _not_ speak her name,” Gerard growled out. “Tell me where Hale is hiding, and I’ll let you leave.”

The boot lifted and Stiles hacked for air, taking the chance to get his breathing right before he looked up at Gerard. He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, since 95% of his brain was just _screaming_ at him to shut down and keep his eyes on the floor, but he spit them in Gerard’s direction anyway. “You know, she _loved_ Scott. He told me all about it, how she thought he was just adorable. Does it bother you that your nearly thirty-year-old daughter was only ever attracted to teenage werewolves?”

Gerard snarled more viciously than any wolf Stiles had met and kneeled down to grab the front of Stiles’ jersey and lift him into range. He saw this hit coming, and the next one. The one after that he missed because his eyes were closed.

During a short break, Stiles caught a glimpse of Erica and Boyd hanging above him. Gerard might not torture them to find Derek, but there was every likelihood that he’d torture them for fun. The longer he kept Gerard’s attention, the longer they had before it started. “I’m not telling you where Derek is. Like you said, the instinct to protect my Alpha is too strong.”

He curled into the kick at his stomach, only managing to disperse a little bit of the force, but it was better than nothing.

“Blood traitor.”

“What is this? Harry Potter?”

The next punch made Stiles see stars and taste blood. Add that to the blue welts forming all over his pale body and he was damn close to being a bleeding, wheezing, American flag.

“ _Grandpa, you down there?”_ Allison called through the wood of the basement door.

The boot landed on Stiles’ throat again, silencing his half formed shout. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be right up,” Gerard answered in a satiny, grandfatherly voice that completely contrasted the blazing fury in his eyes.

“ _I’ll be in my room._ ”

By the time he’d let up, Stiles’ vision was going dark, and he choked the entire time Gerard dragged him up to his feet. “Say goodbye,” he said, shaking Stiles roughly in front of Erica and Boyd’s tear-streaked faces.

He led Stiles by the collar back up the stairs and knocked the side of Stiles’ head against the wall one more time before rapping lightly on the back of the door. The same hunter from before answered it, and Stiles was pushed into his waiting grip.

“Drop him back at the school. Wouldn’t want to make him deliver our message on foot, now would we?”

* * *

Eventually, Derek managed to climb to his feet, so long as he could lean heavily on Isaac. Scott came forward to help move him as well, but he backed off when Peter, Derek, and Isaac growled in unison.

“Look, I don’t know what your guys’ problem is with me—” Scott complained.

“I,” Derek panted, “saw you…with Gerard.”

Scott didn’t even try to deny it. “Okay, hold on. He—he threatened to kill my _mom_. And I had to get close to him, what was I supposed to do?”

Isaac ignored him and twisted his head to look at Derek. “Derek, Jackson’s dead. All the lights went out when the game ended and he put his own hand through his stomach in the middle of the field. Stiles went missing too, and the sheriff is freaking out.”

“That’s a good thing, though, right?” Scott asked. “If Jackson’s dead then it’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Except that Gerard wouldn’t want him dead for no reason. He’s not done with him yet,” Peter said. “Which means Jackson dead could be more of an issue than Jackson alive. We need to get back to the house. There’s one more place I can look to figure this out.” The growl from Isaac just made him sigh. “It’s too late to worry about that. If we don’t deal with Gerard _now_ , it’s not going to matter whether he knows your hiding spot.”

As they went to leave, Scott came up in front of them. “Hold on, I want to help.”

“You’re joking,” Peter drawled.

“No, I’m not! Look, my mom went with Jackson’s body to the hospital. If Gerard tries to get to it, she can let me know. I want him to stop just as much as you do.”

Derek was still focused on breathing and staying standing, so it took a moment to realize that Peter was looking at him. “What?”

Peter sighed. “It’s your call. If you want, I can just tear him apart here and now.”

His eyes glowed blue at the opportunity, but Derek shook his head.

“We need all the help we can get. Gerard’s practically amassed an army in this town.”

But Scott frowned. “Wait, why is Derek in charge? Aren’t you his uncle?”

“Yes, but Derek is the Alpha,” Peter snapped. “In our world, that means something. Are you coming or not?”

Derek was sure they made a strange group coming out the back door of the school, but worrying about it was a little above him. The best he could do was point in the direction of the car, since Peter and Isaac had run there.

Scott veered off once they got near the parking lot to grab his own car and the moment he was out of earshot, Derek used up some of his air to mutter, “Isaac.”

“Don’t,” Isaac said. “I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

Teenagers didn’t care what he said, they cared what he did, so Derek swung himself to the side and wrapped around Isaac in a hug. It was a blend of horrific and wonderful. Horrific, because screaming pack bonds or no, Derek _hated_ this feeling. Wonderful, because Isaac hugged him back, nearly crushing him until the clamoring of his pack bonds stopped hurting so bad, because at least _one_ member of his pack was safe.

Pulling his head away and gritting his teeth, Derek grabbed the back of Isaac’s neck and pushed their foreheads together. “You are my pack. I chose you for a reason. Don’t you _ever_ do that again.”

“You’re such an ass,” Isaac sniped affectionately. He tugged away a little, then more once he saw that Derek could actually stand on his own.

“Yes, yes, it’s all very touching. Can we hurry up now?” Peter asked, but his eye contact with Derek was far more gentle than usual and his words lacked bite.

At the front of the Camaro, Peter headed for the driver’s side door, but Derek put out an arm to stop him. “Not happening.”

Peter didn’t fight it. It was Laura’s car, after all.

Derek’d unlocked the doors when a sudden lack of pain made him droop against the car. “What the…” he whispered.

Isaac jerked to attention on the other side of the car. “What happened? Are they okay?”

“Stiles is,” Derek said. There was still gut wrenching pain, but it was a third less than before. “He stopped pulling.”

Isaac took the backseat, but didn’t put a seatbelt on, just slid to the middle and leaned on the center console during the drive. After a while he asked, “So, what’s that supposed to be? You keep talking about pulling. I don’t feel anything.”

“It’s an Alpha-only thing, thankfully,” Peter explained. “Survival instinct in the pack bond alerts the Alpha if someone is experiencing extreme fear. The kind that usually precedes death. It’s like someone yanking your intestines out, so be grateful you aren’t feeling it.”

The surprisingly accurate description made Derek blink over at Peter, who avoided eye contact. “I got a bit familiar with it, in my short time as Alpha.”

Derek could only cough and turn back to the road. He hadn’t realized Peter could _tell_ when Kate was in the room with Derek. Because that’s all it took. Just the sight of her was enough to make every cell in his body scream in terror. And Peter had been able to feel it for a _week_.

Scott followed them to the house and parked beside the Camaro, then followed them up to the building. “You’ve been staying _here_? What happened to the depot?”

Derek glared hard. “It was compromised.”

“Uh, wait, why are you barefoot? Are you in pajamas?” Scott was looking down at where Isaac’s feet were covered in dirt.

“None of your business,” Isaac answered.

Opening the door, Peter sighed. “Not very perceptive, is he?”

Derek ignored him, not interested in fighting with Scott more. He was helping them now, that was all that needed to matter. “Isaac, go clean up and get dressed.”

A soft buzz made everyone in the group jump, and Scott pulled his phone out. He clicked at the screen for a second, then deflated and sighed. “Oh, thank god. They found Stiles.”

One less thing to worry about.

“What are you looking for?” Derek asked. “I thought you said the books were all you could get.”

Peter kneeled down on the stairs once Isaac had gone up. “That’s because I thought the Argents would have found it, especially with the bitch staying under the house for so long.” He put his fingers at the side of the step in front of him and yanked until the board came off. “But they didn’t.” Reaching inside the hole, Peter pulled out a thin, latched box covered in ash.

“What is that, a book?”

“No, you geek,” Peter sighed. “It’s a laptop. What century are you living in?” He popped it open and pulled out a sleek Mac. “You wanted to know what I left the hotel for. I transferred everything we had and stashed it. The Argents aren’t the only ones who keep records.”

When Scott’s phone rang, Derek didn’t even hide the fact that he was listening. Scott’s stupid secrets had put them all in danger, he didn’t get to have private conversations anymore.

If he’d just _told_ Derek that Gerard was threatening his mom. Derek could’ve done something, could’ve protected her somehow. Instead, he’d sold Derek out and Gerard was still at large anyway.

“Hey mom, I can’t talk right now,” Scott muttered into his phone.

“ _Yeah, well I’m so freaked out that I can barely talk either._ ”

“What’s wrong?”

“ _Something. Definitely something. I don’t know what but I think you’re gonna wanna see this for yourself._ ”

“Where are you?”

“ _At the morgue. Scott, hurry._ ”

The creak of the stairs caught Derek’s attention and he watched Isaac bound down them. He was fully dressed now and looked light on his feet considering Derek had no idea where he’d slept last night.

Scott tucked his phone away. “My mom says—”

“We know what she said, Scott,” Isaac interrupted.

The scowl Scott shot him made Derek’s hackles rise, but Isaac looked nonplussed. He just turned to Derek. “Should we let him go? What if he just goes back to Gerard?”

“Mini-me has a point,” Peter added.

“You’re not keeping me here!” Scott cried. “I told you I would help, and I am. If you’re so worried then just come with me.”

Peter lifted the laptop. “I need to do research, and Derek can barely walk.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Isaac can go.”

Derek growled on principle and stepped over to Isaac’s side. He’d only just gotten his Beta back, and the others were scared out of their minds. He wasn’t about to lose Isaac again.

“What?” Isaac protested

Stepping over, Peter caught Isaac’s gaze and held it. “You are Derek’s Second while Boyd is gone. We need you to keep an eye on Scott and call us with what you find at the morgue. Can you do that?”

Slowly, Isaac nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Isaac,” Derek said. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

“I’ll do it, and then I’ll come back, Alpha,” Isaac said. He was standing taller than usual, confident and sure.

Scott scoffed and went back to the still open door. “Then let’s go already. God, why do you have to make everything weird?”

Once Scott’s car had left the clearing, Peter raised an eyebrow Derek’s way. “ _Alpha_ , huh?”

Feeling like a teenager again, Derek flushed hot as he walked to the living room. “I didn’t tell them to call me that. They haven’t either…I mean, not until now. Stiles is a bad influence.”

“Speaking of Stiles,” Peter hedged.

“I know,” Derek sighed. “I mean, I don’t know. None of it makes sense. Can we just focus on Jackson?”

* * *

Stiles sat in his car for about twenty minutes after he was pushed out of the still-moving hunter’s SUV, letting out all the tears he’d been holding in and slamming his palms against his steering wheel until they were almost as sore as the rest of his body.

What even were his options? If he went to Scott, Scott would probably do something immensely stupid out of anger. If he went to Derek, he’d either do the same thing, or even worse, just not care. He’d been avoiding Stiles like the plague since the night Matt died, and now the rest of the pack had joined in; it wasn’t all that unlikely.

What the fuck had he done wrong?

Erica and Boyd’s whimpers were ringing in his ears still, their wide, terrified eyes staring at him while he got a beatdown from an old man. He wanted to go back, to free them. But he was only human, and his leather-clad escort had warned him what would happen if any wolves showed up at the house. Instant lights out.

So instead of anything useful or brave, Stiles drove himself home and stumbled into the house. It was quiet, but the lights were on, so he headed up the stairs toward his open door. His dad stood in the middle of the room, clutching his phone and whispering to himself, “Come on, Stiles, where are you?”

“Right here,” Stiles croaked. Before his dad had a chance to respond to the swollen, scraped mess that was Stiles’ face, Stiles put his hands up. “I’m okay. Dad, I’m okay.”

He let his dad come close and put a hand just under his jaw to tilt the worst of his bruises into the light, knowing that when their positions were reversed it was the first thing he always did. Check the damage, then decide how much to freak out.

“Who did this?” his dad whispered. He sounded utterly broken, and Stiles bit his split lip trying to keep back the flood of tears and words.

When he was sure he could speak without bawling, he muttered, “H—hunters. Most of it’s my fault. Couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Totally went against all that stuff you taught me about what to do when kidnapped, you know? Guess we know how good I am under pressure.”

The hand on his neck tightened enough to be uncomfortable before his dad pulled it away and crushed it into a fist. “Who—which ones?”

“I—”

“Do _not_ lie to me, Stiles.”

The strain in his dad’s voice was painful to hear, and Stiles switched out of his lie immediately. “I’m sorry. Gerard. That stupid fucking bag of bones.”

He saw his dad’s eyes flick out to the hall, and grabbed at his dad’s shoulder. “No, no! Look, it’s—I’m okay. It’s not even that bad.”

“I’m gonna go over there, and I’m going to pistol whip that bastard—”

“Dad! Please, god, I said I was okay. I’m fine. Please, please don’t,” Stiles’ voice cracked and he stared at the buttons on his dad’s shirt until his vision stopped blurring with hot tears, then whispered, “They’ll kill you. Please, don’t.”

Finally, his dad dragged him into a hug that made every single bruise on Stiles’ body sing. Stiles buried his face in his dad’s shoulder and hugged back.

Unable to go after the man who’d beaten Stiles up, his dad put all of his energy into coddling Stiles, pushing him into the shower and bringing him a bottle of water with a straw and pain medication. He fluffed Stiles’ pillows and practically smothered him with ice packs until Stiles got up the courage to ask to be alone.

He didn’t really want to be alone, but he wanted his dad to stop fussing. Stiles hadn’t done anything worth the affection. He’d mouthed off and put Erica and Boyd in danger, and now he was here at home while they were still fucking tied up.

Only keeping an ice pack on the truly excruciating bruise on his ribs, Stiles shoved the rest off the covers and flipped over onto his stomach so he could bury most of his face in his pillow. He didn’t sleep, just stared at the wall next to the bed.

If he just said this. If he’d just done that. If he hadn’t underestimated Gerard as a weak, old man, he could’ve done _something_ to defend himself. One of those things Allison had taught him.

Had she known he was down there? Gerard forced him to keep quiet when she came near, so maybe not. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to know how much he’d already done. Fuck, maybe he was just trying to be polite and keep the screaming to a minimum.

Stiles’ phone buzzed on the desk with message after message from Scott.

The night played over and over, a nightmare reel that he couldn’t turn off. Sometimes he imagined himself doing something, knocking Gerard out, freeing Boyd and Erica. But that wasn’t what happened. He hadn’t been a hero or even put up a fight. He’d just left them there to suffer.

The soft rap on the door made him wince. “Dad, I said I’m fine.”

Four more raps and Stiles was just incredibly, unreasonably annoyed. He shoved off the bed and stormed to the door, muttering under his breath. “Come on, how many times do I have to—”

It wasn’t his dad standing outside the door. It was Lydia, her hair falling out of its little loop around her head and most of her eye makeup missing, as though she’d only wiped part of it off. Another scarf was wrapped around her neck, a green one this time.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

All the anger was gone. “Hi.”

She bit her lip and gestured down the hall. “Your father let me in.”

“He did?” Stiles asked. “Oh, yeah, of course he did.”

There was something in her eyes, like she had something important to say, but Lydia paused and reached for his chin. “What happened to your—”

Stiles jerked away before she could touch him, grinning as brightly as he could fake it. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Do you wanna come in?”

He opened the door wider to make space and twisted for just a second to check that his room wasn’t a complete mess. Other than the ice packs melting all over the floor, it looked pretty decent.

Lydia only went a couple steps inside, keeping her back turned and her head bowed. Once Stiles’d closed the door, she whispered, “They won’t let me see him. I know…I know everyone was trying to stop him. I just didn’t realize…and now they won’t let me see him.”

“See who, Lydia?”

“Jackson,” Lydia whispered, sniffling and walking over to sit on the bed.

Stiles didn’t move from his spot at the door, suddenly cold to the bone. “What—what happened to Jackson?”

She looked up at him with angry, affronted eyes that almost immediately switched back to distraught. “You—you disappeared, I forgot. Stiles, Jackson…he died.”

It shouldn’t have hit so hard. Stiles hadn’t been friends with Jackson in years, hadn’t even thought about him except to be annoyed and pissed off by him. He was a jerk and a pompous asshole who thought he was better than everyone else just because his family had money and he was decent at lacrosse.

But that didn’t mean he deserved to die. He’d _tried_ , when they told him what was going on. He didn’t want to be hurting people. And the fact still stood that they _had_ been friends once. For almost three years, Stiles didn’t go anywhere without Jackson at his hip. Jackson had known his mom.

And now he was dead.

Stiles sank down on the bed next to Lydia. “Oh.”

They sat in near silence for a while. Stiles was too numb to really react to anything anymore, but Lydia was still crying. Eventually she muttered, “Bathroom?” and disappeared in the direction Stiles pointed. When she came back her makeup was completely gone, but she looked a little less fragile.

“Why is there a bottle of water next to the sink in there?”

Stiles shrugged and laid back on the bed, pushing past the jagged pain that came from jostling his side. “For brushing my teeth. I…I don’t like the sound of running water.”

Blessedly, Lydia just nodded and began to wander the room, slowly becoming more animated as she distracted herself by looking at Stiles’ stuff.

“Lydia, what happened?” Stiles asked, propping himself up on his elbows until it became too uncomfortable, then shifting to just lay on his good side and watch her explore.

“I already told you, what, you want details?” she answered, voice a little raspy.

He shook his head, even though she wasn’t looking at him. “No, what happened at your party? The punch…did you know what it would do to us?”

Lydia stopped, her fingers resting on one of the shelves on his bookcase. She turned her head to gaze at him and bit her lip. “I didn’t want to. Peter was in my head. I thought he was gone, but he came back and it was like I was possessed or something. I just felt like I _had_ to.”

Stiles made a face. “But why would he want you to spike our drinks?”

“Because he—” Lydia stopped as Stiles’ phone buzzed. “Because he want—” It buzzed again. Then three times in a row. “For god’s sake, Stiles would you answer your phone?”

“No,” Stiles said. “I—the best thing I can do right now is just stay here.”

“Why?”

Standing up, Stiles went over to the desk and turned the vibration off on his phone without looking at it. “Because it’s better for everyone.”

“But why?”

“You really wanna know?” Stiles burst.

“ _Yes_.”

* * *

“They say he’s in some kind of transparent casing made from the venom coming out of his claws,” Derek recited for Isaac.

From his makeshift desk, with his cheek propped on one fist, Peter continued to scroll through the Hale bestiary. “That sounds sufficiently terrifying.”

“They also say he’s starting to move,” Derek rushed him.

Peter straightened up and poked at the screen. “Okay, I think I found something. So, it looks like what you’ve seen from Jackson so far is just the kanima’s Beta shape.”

Derek shifted to look at the screen too, grateful that his insides no longer felt like they’d been put through a grinder. A few minutes ago Erica and Boyd’s bonds had stopped yanking at him. It didn’t make him feel much better about them being captured and possibly tortured, but at least now he could think straight. If he could just deal with Jackson and Gerard, there would be no one to stop him from finding them and bringing them home.

“Meaning what? It can turn into something bigger?”

The page Peter pulled up on the screen had a drawing on it, the closest thing to a dragon that Derek had ever seen, except for the fluid dripping from its front legs.

Peter leaned back. “Bigger and badder.”

“He’s turning into _that_?” Derek confirmed. “That has wings.”

“I can see that.” Even Peter sounded intimidated. “The kanima is like a parasitoid. The Beta shape is what happens before it kills the host, i.e Jackson. When it becomes _this_ , well, no more Jackson.”

So, he’d been right. The kanima wasn’t just a mutation of Jackson’s lycanthropy, it was a whole separate entity feeding off him.

“ _What?_ ” Isaac asked through the phone. “ _What has wings?_ ”

“You need to bring him to us,” Derek said.

Scott’s voice came from near the phone. “ _I’m not sure if we have time for that.”_

Meanwhile, Peter was still clicking on things. He opened a tab with a short video. “Look, somebody actually made an animation of it. Maybe it’s less frightening if we—” He tapped the play button and a 3D rendering of the kanima’s final form flew at them on the screen.

Derek jerked upward away from the laptop and Peter jumped back, slapping at the touchpad until the tab closed.

“Nope, not at all.” He looked up at Derek. “We should probably meet them halfway.” But when Derek repeated the order to Isaac and hung up, turning to leave, Peter didn’t move. “Derek.”

“What?”

“I found the cure.”

In a second, Derek was back at the desk, staring over Peter’s shoulder. “What?”

Peter pointed to a line. “Here. The cure. ‘Resolve that which manifested it.’ That’s it.”

“That’s the same crap that was in the Argent bestiary. You know it never works like that,” Derek scoffed. “There’s no way to save him, Peter. All we can do is let him stop killing.”

Closing the laptop, Peter stood up to face him. “Derek, this isn’t a hunter’s bestiary. It’s not made to teach hunterlings how to hack and slash. It’s written by other supernatural beings like us. That _is_ the cure.”

“But we already _tried_ that,” Derek said automatically. Then, he paused. “Didn’t we? Stiles—Erica said that Stiles was trying to find out what happened in Jackson’s past to make him turn into the kanima. Something about his parent’s car crash. No one knew what’d caused it. And Jackson…he was born postmortem.”

Peter recoiled a little. “That definitely sounds like enough to turn the kid into a vengeance monster.”

Derek sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyebrows. “But how does that help? How do we resolve the fact that his parents might’ve been murdered and he was born from a corpse?”

“We don’t need to resolve what actually happened,” Peter pointed out. “We just need to resolve what it did to _Jackson_. Again, psychology. What do you know about him? Other than the fact that he’s a little git, of course.”

“Nothing. Nothing except…fuck.”

Peter raised a brow. “Language, Derek.”

“Stiles. Why the fuck is it always Stiles?”

“What is it this time?”

Derek tried to remember what Isaac had said in the middle of all the fury back at the depot. “He and Jackson used to be friends, as kids. They’re not anymore, but apparently they used to be close. And Stiles has access to Lydia, who is the only person Jackson’s close to now.”

“Derek.”

“I know.”

“We need Stiles.”

“I know!”

Peter threw his arms up. “Then call him, text him. Do something, because otherwise we’re going to have a paralytic dragon on our hands!”

Snarling, Derek yanked his phone back out. “Fine.”

* * *

“Stiles, you can’t stay here,” Lydia said. “I know what you’re trying to do, but—”

Stiles had been pacing for most of his explanation, but he stopped now to gesture out the window. “But what? But I should just go anyway and let Scott freak the fuck out and get himself killed?”

Lydia stayed quiet for a second before whispering, “I don’t think that’s why you’re here, Stiles.”

“Oh, _really_?” Stiles drawled. “And why am I actually here, huh? You think I like being stuck in my room?”

“I think you like not having to look Derek in the face.”

Stiles recoiled, tripping into his chair at the desk. “How _fucking_ dare—I…” His eyes were burning again, and he swiped his palm against them before any tears could fall. “How—how am I supposed to look at him and tell him I left his Betas in a basement, being electrocuted just like what Kate did to him last month? Lyds, I know I’m not supposed to be their pack…I know they don’t want me…but they’re still mine. I just want to grab one of my dad’s guns and _destroy_ those fuckers for hurting Erica and Boyd. Not even for me. Just for them.”

“If you tell Derek what happened, he’ll help you. Stiles, _I’ll_ help you.”

“And you’ll both get yourselves killed, just like Scott would,” Stiles snapped, angry again. Up and down and up and down. “You people, you don’t _get_ it. You don’t care if you get hurt. But you know how I’ll feel? I’ll be devastated. If you die, I will literally go out of my fucking mind.”

He wasn’t coming down this time. The anger was just amping higher and higher, and he stepped toward her, shaking. “You see, death doesn’t happen to _you_ , Lydia. It happens to everyone around you, okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they’re gonna live the rest of their lives now, without you in it!” He threw one hand up to point at his face, and used the other to lift the bottom of his t-shirt, exposing the purple-black bruises spanning both sides of his ribs, but far worse on his right. He was shouting now, forcing Lydia to walk backward away from him. “This wasn’t meant to hurt me! It was meant to make my best friend go mad with rage and my dad cry! I don’t want your help!”

Lydia’s lip began to tremble, and everything hot and fiery in Stiles turned to ice. He dropped his shirt and backed up. “I…oh god, I am so sorry.” Back and back he went, until his shoulders knocked into the blinds of his window. “I am so _so_ sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lydia whispered. But it didn’t look remotely okay.

She took a small step forward and reached for the phone on the desk. “At least…just read them. At least know what you’re trying so hard to avoid.”

Just as tentative, Stiles took the phone from her, barely touching it with his fingertips and keeping his distance. He turned on the screen and the volume. There weren’t any more texts from Scott, but there was one from Derek.

**Peter Pan: I need your help to save Jackson. And Lydia’s, if you can.**

Stiles stared down at the text. “Lydia…I…I don’t think Jackson is dead.”

“What?” Lydia rushed over to him, hesitation forgotten, and looked at the screen. “Save him? Save him, not kill him? Derek can save Jackson?”

“I don’t know, maybe? I—what do I do? If I go, I could make everything worse.”

The phone dinged softly in his palm.

**Peter Pan: The bestiary was right. We need to resolve whatever made him turn into the kanima in the first place.**

**Peter Pan: Please. He doesn’t have to die.**

“Oh god,” Stiles whispered. “Oh god, oh god, Lydia, what do I—oh god.”

His head jerked up at the sound of the door opening. His dad leaned his head in. “Lydia, can I talk to Stiles for a second?”

Shocked and silent, Lydia nodded and stepped out of the room once Stiles’ dad had stepped in. He clicked the door shut and went to stand in front of Stiles, holding gently onto his biceps and leading him over to the bed. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Dad, I—I don’t think right now—”

“No, no, now is exactly the right time.” His dad shook his head. “I know that a lot of things have gone wrong lately, and I’m sorry I can’t make that easier. But I want you to have one good thing to think about, okay?”

Stiles sighed. “What’s that?”

“The game.”

Though he knew it was only a few hours ago, Stiles’ memories of the game felt like they were coming from weeks past. “Right.”

“Stiles, you were amazing,” his dad said. “I know things were a little touch and go when you first got out there, but then, when everything looked like it was over, you picked up that ball and you started running. You ran and you made that goal, and the tide turned. And you made another goal, and another.”

He wrapped an arm carefully over Stiles’ shoulder and tugged him in. “Everything might feel heavy and serious right now, but that doesn’t make the good things any less good. You played first line tonight, and you were amazing at it. Seeing you running around on that field, Stiles, you _belonged_ there. You were a hero.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “Dad, I’m not a hero.”

“You’re a hero to me,” his dad said simply. “Always have been.”

For a second, Stiles was able to just forget about everything painful. He cleared his mind and enjoyed the silent pride his dad was practically beaming his way. It’d been so exhilarating to be on the field with the team, to have them cheer him on and treat him like he actually belonged.

Belonged.

Stiles’ eyes popped open. “Oh my god. Dad. Dad, I know what to do. Lydia!” he jumped up and went to the door, pulling it open. Lydia was standing in the hall, wringing her hands. “Lydia, I know what to do.”

“You do?” she asked.

“Yes, but you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Lydia hesitated, then nodded her head. “Yeah.”

“Do you trust me enough to let me go alone?”

“Stiles—”

Stiles nearly stomped a foot. “Please, Lydia. Please, just trust me on this.”

Lydia nodded one more time and Stiles pounced forward to kiss her temple. “Thank you, I’m gonna fix it. Trust me.”

Running back into his room to put on socks and shoes, Stiles snatched his phone up.

_Where are you?_

* * *

Derek sped more than a little to get to the spot he told Isaac and Scott to meet them at, unwilling to leave Isaac anywhere near Chris Argent for longer than could be helped.

Isaac’s text had looked like a sick joke at first, except that Isaac didn’t know Chris. Then he mentioned something about Allison, and Derek had no trouble believing Scott would invite Argent along. He’d do anything for Allison.

Argent’s SUV was already parked when Derek got there, but Derek didn’t relax until Isaac had dashed away from Scott to join him and Peter.

Chris watched Isaac’s side change with blank eyes. “I’m here for Jackson, not you.”

“Somehow I don’t find that very comforting,” Derek said. He nodded to Peter and Isaac. “Get him inside.”

Argent moved his car instead, driving it in reverse right through the massive doorway into the warehouse and popping the hatch so Isaac and Scott could pull the body bag out onto the concrete.

Derek turned to Peter. “How much time do we have?”

“It’s not precise.” Peter shrugged. “Think of it like a really _really_ ugly butterfly. The venom is its chrysalis. It’ll come out when it’s ready, and when it does, there won’t be any Jackson left in it.”

Isaac looked down at the bag. “What are the signs that it’s ready?”

“Well, I assume it’ll try to get out of the bag.”

Every second that they stood there waiting for Stiles to show up was a second closer to Gerard having a _dragon_ at his command. “What if we interrupt it?”

“Interrupt what?” Chris asked.

Derek snarled at him on reflex, but answered, “The kanima. What if we interrupted the evolution process, like cracking open a chrysalis before it’s ready? The body is dead, isn’t it?”

“More like a very deep coma, but I see where you’re going with this,” Peter said. “Depending on how far into the process it is, there are three options.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Either we get the kanima back, we kill Jackson completely, or we get an underdeveloped dragon.”

“Dragon?” Isaac croaked.

Derek nodded, kneeling over the body bag and pulling the zip down. Everything but Jackson’s head was covered in a gel-like slime much thicker than the venom. “Basically. Claws, fangs, wings, tail. The works. Gerard is cooking up the most dangerous guard dog in the world.”

“No,” Chris said. “No, he wouldn’t do that. If Jackson’s a dog, he’s turning rabid, and my father wouldn’t let a rabid dog live.”

If Gerard didn’t want Jackson to evolve, why would he trigger the process?

“Of course not!”

Derek jumped up and turned toward the side hall. Gerard Argent was stood there, as calm as anything. And he didn’t have a smell. How had he gotten in without being heard?

“Anything that dangerous,” Gerard continued, “that out of control, is better off dead.”

Before things could get any worse, Derek slashed a hand down toward Jackson’s chest. It was batted away like a cat toy and five sharp points buried themselves in Derek’s stomach, lifting him right off of his feet and forcing Jackson’s fingers even deeper in his flesh. The shock of the pain rendered Derek silent as he was lifted higher, then tossed backward effortlessly through hanging plastic sheets.

Trying to breathe, Derek reached for his stomach and pressed down to staunch the bleeding. Surprisingly, no tingling numbness spread through his body. The gel version of the venom that Jackson’s hands had been encased in apparently wasn’t a paralytic. He could still move and he was healing decently too, enough to listen to Gerard.

 _“Well done to the last, Scott. Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek. To save or kill, it doesn’t matter. Because what you didn’t realize is that you were also bringing Derek to_ me. _”_

An arrow whistled through the air and hit meat. Isaac whimpered softly and a body hit the floor.

“ _Allison?_ ” Scott said.

A moment later, Peter appeared through the other doorway in the room Derek was in, dragging Isaac. A gun went off, and Jackson screeched.

Peter came over to Derek’s side and reached down, yanking the bolt out of Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac growled and shifted up, but didn’t fight back. He clambered to his feet and crouched at Derek’s side until he could stand too.

When Chris came running in and stopped to brandish a tiny knife, Derek almost felt bad for him. He was knocked to the side like a bowling pin, which left Derek, Isaac, and Peter to step forward. From the other side of the room, Scott had shifted as well.

It was chaos, far more than it should have been with four against one, but the kanima was strong and stupidly fast. It blocked each of Derek’s swipes and hardly responded to Scott digging his claws into its back. They could barely get two people on it at once, it threw them off so fast.

As Derek tried to get some height by climbing up a piece of machinery, Isaac was chucked into a stack of pallets, groaning, while Peter barely grazed the kanima’s chest with his claws.

Jumping down gave Derek enough force to knock the kanima forward, but as he shot out an arm, the kanima grabbed it and used it to throw him at a slab of metal. He borrowed the momentum to run up the incline and flip backwards over the kanima’s head, but the advantage of being behind it didn’t last more than a millisecond.

It got a hand around Derek’s throat and slammed him into the metal this time, winding him. He rolled away, coughing, while Scott took another turn and ended up kicked into the wall for his trouble. Peter was hit hard too, the sound of bone snapping and a head hitting concrete distinct a few yards away from Derek.

Stumbling to his feet, Derek dove forward, but the kanima just sidestepped and swiped at his stomach. This time, the numbing was instant, and Derek collapsed.

Across the room, Isaac roared and headed Derek’s direction, but Allison appeared behind him. Derek couldn’t see what she did, but he could hear the slice of her blades through Isaac’s clothing and his skin, deep cuts that sent him to his knees. She drove her blades into his back in a clear X right across his spine, and Isaac collapsed.

Paralyzed on the floor, Derek watched as she spun her blades in her hands and marched in his direction.

Derek would’ve gaped if he had the control of his body to do so, when Scott was the one to cry out, “No, Allison!”

Allison raised her hands, only for two green claws to grab her wrists and yank them backwards, forcing her to drop the knives. Then, one of them wrapped around her throat.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Gerard called, stepping out of the shadows again. There was still no scent to give him away.

From the ground, Isaac groaned, “How are you…there’s no…”

Gerard smiled obligingly. “Oh, I’ve got tricks you wouldn’t believe, mutt.”

Panting against the kanima’s grip, Allison asked, “What are you doing?”

“He’s doing what he came here to do.” Scott sounded unphased by the change in direction.

Gerard looked at him with renewed interest. “Then you know.”

“What is he talking about?” Allison asked.

Gerard glanced at her, then back at Scott, tilting his head. “It was that night outside the hospital, wasn’t it? When I threatened your mother. I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could smell it, couldn’t you? I was more careful after that.”

He dug one hand into his pocket, and between one moment and the next, he suddenly had a scent. It burned at the back of Derek’s nose, and he heard Isaac sniff gently. He’d told him what it could mean, why being at a hospital could be especially unpleasant to a werewolf nose.

Gerard carried the scent of death on his skin.

“He’s dying,” Isaac said.

“I am,” Gerard agreed. “I have been for a while now. Unfortunately, science doesn’t have a cure for cancer, yet. But the supernatural does.”

Oh god, _no._

Allison’s small gasp of shock was followed by more gasps for air, and Chris’ voice sounded from behind Derek. “You monster.”

“Not yet,” Gerard said.

“What are you doing?” Allison cried. She was silenced again, wheezing quietly.

“You’ll kill her too?” Chris said, voice like he was gargling glass.

Gerard frowned. “When it comes to survival, I’d kill my own _son_.”

There were a few moments of silence where Derek could only see Gerard’s side of a silent conversation. Then, his mouth twitched and he sighed, “Scott?”

Scott’s feet stepped slowly up to Derek’s back. His hand clamped around the nape of Derek’s neck and yanked him up to his knees.

“Scott, don’t,” Derek begged. “You know he’s gonna kill me right after. He’ll be an Alpha.”

“That’s true,” Gerard said. “But I think he already knows that, don’t you, Scott? He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison. Do this small task for me, and they can be together.” He finally focused his eyes on Derek himself. “You are the only piece that doesn’t fit, Derek, and in case you haven’t learned yet, there is just no competing with young love.”

Slowly, Scott began to bend Derek’s neck back. “Scott, don’t. Don’t!”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. The blip in his heartbeat was clear as a bell. “But I have to.”

He tugged harder, forcing Derek’s mouth open. From the corner of his eye, Derek could see Gerard coming toward him with one arm outstretched.

No, no, no. The bite was a gift to those who deserved it, who needed it. It wasn’t supposed to be this.

Desperate, Derek closed his eyes.

Gerard tasted of illness and death and something horribly bitter that made Derek’s whole mouth hurt. The bite itself only lasted an instant, and once Gerard had yanked his arm away from Derek’s fangs, Scott let him fall back to the floor. The only benefit of the venom was that Derek wasn’t capable of trembling.

The bitter taste wasn’t gone yet. Derek coughed and growled at the burning in his mouth that was growing with every second.

A hand grabbed at the back of his shirt and pulled him sideways, away from Scott and Gerard, who was showing off the imprint of Derek’s teeth like a trophy. The scent told him it was Peter, not that Derek could’ve stopped them if it were anyone else, and he dragged Derek back from the scene. Maybe he knew about the venom, how it wouldn’t wear off without distance from the kanima, because he kept pulling, even as Gerard’s arm began to leak black fluid.

Suddenly, Derek was shoved to sit upright and leaned over Peter’s arm with perfect timing as Derek coughed up his own black bile onto the floor. It was like Gerard’s blood had turned to poison in his mouth.

“What is this?” Gerard hissed, glaring at Scott. “What did you _do_?”

Scott shrugged and looked around. “Everyone said Gerard always had a plan. I had a plan too.”

Dropping his jacket on the floor, Gerard pulled a small tin from his pocket and poured pills from it into his hand. “No. No!” He crushed them in a fist, and black powder poured from his palm. “Mountain ash!”

He began to cough and choke far more severely than Derek, dropping to his knees and vomiting up what looked like whole pints of bile, as though his insides were being liquified. It kept coming for a few seconds, then Gerard fell to the side, shaking and wheezing while more liquid dripped from his nose, ears, and eyes, exactly like what’d happened to Jackson after the bite.

The couple dozen feet of distance from the kanima was enough to allow Derek the ability to spit what was in his mouth out, then he called to Scott, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

If he’d known, they could’ve done something _else_ , something less dangerous, and if all else failed, at least Derek would’ve been the one to _choose_ to give Gerard the bite. He would’ve done it, if it were the only way. All Scott had to do was tell him the truth.

Scott actually frowned at him. “Because you might be an Alpha, but you’re not mine.”

Derek just stared, feeling the rumble of Peter’s growl against his back. The mere fact that he could feel it properly was a good sign for his ability to move, and when he tried to shift one of his arms, it actually did what he asked. About to try standing up, Derek stopped at the sound of spitting.

Crawling a little ways away from the pool of black, Gerard spat again and turned his head to look at Jackson, who was still holding Allison by the throat. “Kill them,” he wheezed. He took a deep breath and shouted with the force of a kanima master, “ _Kill them all_!” 

He collapsed, face first. Slowly, the kanima’s hand lowered from Allison’s neck, and she used the moment of calm to snap her elbow back into its face. Unaffected, the kanima used one hand to shove her to the floor behind it. As it turned to finish her off, the sound of a car engine flared up and the half-collapsed wall at the back of the warehouse exploded inward to make room for a powder blue Jeep. It squealed across the room toward the kanima and hit it dead center, knocking it to the ground with more success than anything else they’d done.

“Did I get him?” Stiles called, his face scrunched up. “You guys blocked the entrance!”

Already recovered, the kanima jumped onto the top of the Jeep, and Stiles started to shout. To Derek’s confusion, they weren’t shouts of fear, they were shouts of anger. Stiles scrambled out the passenger side door, the furthest away from the kanima, and pointed a finger at it, “Hey! Douchebag! Get off my mom’s car! Not the Jeep!”

Numb, Derek suddenly realized why his fixing the Jeep had done so much for Stiles’ bond.

Almost as if it was obliging Stiles, the kanima hopped off it and hissed at him.

“No, fuck off, you pompous dick! Not all of us can have a fucking Porsche, Jackson!” Stiles yelled. He glanced over at the state of the room and Derek made eye contact with him for barely a second before he turned back to the kanima, backing slowly toward the emptiest part of the room and keeping the kanima’s eyes on him. Drawing its attention.

“This is not what you think it is,” Stiles shouted, “We are not killing him, don’t even think about a sneak attack right now.” He was looking straight at Jackson, but his words were clearly meant for the werewolves in the room.

He put his hands out to either side. “Resolve that which manifested it, my ass, Jackson. You’re not that hard to figure out! I get it, okay? I get why you had to turn into a fucking lizard. The kanima seeks a master. Now, for once, I’m not gonna make a sex joke about that. You’re welcome. I get that you’re not looking for someone to tell you what to do. You’re looking for someone to accept you.” 

Stiles’ eyes flickered toward Derek. “You’re captain of the lacrosse team, captain of the swim team, head of the track team, but all the teams in the world aren’t going to give you what you want.” He stopped backing up. “You wanna belong, Jackson. You don’t care if they like you or not, you just want to be accepted once, and then know that you belong. That’s all. I saw how pissed you were about Derek. You thought he rejected you. You asked to be a werewolf because you wanted to have a pack to belong to, but you were such a dick about it, you convinced yourself that he’d never let you in. Boom. Kanima blackout.”

Another flicker to Derek, and Peter’s hands began to pull Derek up. His legs actually caught his own weight. Oh. Stiles had been leading the kanima away from him.

“The kanima seeks a master, Jackson, not a pack. As soon as the kanima took over, your pack bond with Derek was suppressed. Not destroyed. Suppressed. You good over there?” he raised his voice. “Stupid werewolf healing.”

Derek was standing, even if he wasn’t all that balanced. “What are you doing, Stiles?”

“I’m not doing it. You have to, Alpha.” Jackson was getting much closer to Stiles, hissing softly and snapping his tail from side to side, but Stiles wasn’t backing up. “Stories say you can cure a werewolf by calling its Christian name, right? Well, Jackson’s not religious, so I’m pretty sure that’s fucked. But it sure would make me feel a hell of a lot safer if his fucking _Alpha_ called for him. As _pack_.”

“Jackson?” Derek shouted. Jackson didn’t even turn to him. “Jackson!”

Finally, slitted eyes shifted to look at him. He didn’t move.

Tutting a little, Stiles said, “There’s the ‘try,’ now give it a bit of ‘umph!’”

Then, Derek got it.

“ _JACKSON!_ ”

The echo of his roar reverberated off all the metal in the room until the air was singing with it. Every werewolf, plus Stiles, went down, while Allison and Chris both covered their ears.

Jackson stood through the whole thing, staring at Derek. When it was over, he tilted his head as though he was confused, and started to shimmer. Like someone was pulling a silk sheet off of him, the scales just melted away. The claws stayed long, but turned into a more familiar yellowed tint, the tail disappeared, and his eyes turned a bright, glowing blue.

He was left a werewolf in his Beta shift, and completely nude.

Jackson managed a single confused blink before collapsing to the ground. Stiles ran to him and checked his pulse before grimacing and rolling Jackson onto his front. Though he was clearly only muttering to Jackson, Derek still picked it up easily.

“Dude, I seriously _never_ wanna see your dick again. Stop getting naked in front of me.”

Stiles stood up and took in the scene. He looked over at where Scott was gaping at him, where Allison was staring, and then over to Gerard’s body. A flash of something dark crossed his face, and then he was walking toward Chris.

He got up front and center before anyone questioned what he was doing and by then it was too late. Stiles reared back and landed a punch on Chris’ jaw so hard he dropped like a stone. Though Stiles dove forward to pummell Chris into the ground, he was yanked back by Allison and a dagger was tucked against his jugular.

Derek was moving forward before he could even think about it.

“Allison!” Scott cried again, like it was the only word he knew.

Stiles didn’t look like he gave a single shit. He was still glaring down at where Chris was shaking his head out and standing up. “Let them _go_ , you son of a bitch.” His sudden hiss hinted at the increased pressure of the knife, and Derek growled.

Chris put a hand out and ordered, “Allison! Let him go!”

As soon as the knife was removed, Stiles was driving forward again. Chris stumbled backwards and knocked away Stiles’ attempted hits.

“Give them back!” Stiles shouted.

Something about what he’d said stunned Chris so much he froze and Stiles clocked him again.

This time, Derek was the one to run over and pull Stiles back. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Stiles snapped, yanking out of Derek’s grip, but not advancing again. He just glared at Chris. “Let them go, or I swear to god I’ll have the _entire_ sheriff’s department swarming your house with _one_ word.”

“I—I already did,” Chris choked. “Stiles, oh my god. You were down there?”

At some point, Isaac had recovered and come up near Derek’s side, his shirt in shreds. He was whining softly, and he reached out for Stiles. “What the hell happened to you?”

Stiles turned toward Isaac’s voice, and then, in a horrific replica of Isaac’s first meeting with him at the depot, he spasmed away from the touch and fell straight to the floor. For a single moment the bond yanked, and then it stopped and Stiles was scrambling backwards across the concrete.

For the first time, Derek thought to actually check Stiles’ scent and examine his face. He smelled of fear, fury, and _pain_. There was a nasty scrape across his cheekbone, right overtop of a lavender bruise. His lip was split and bleeding, and his entire neck and jaw were covered in purple-black marks. Derek could smell much deeper ones underneath his shirt.

“It’s—it’s nothing,” Stiles placated, rising to his feet once he was a short distance away.

“Did my father do that to you?” Chris asked.

Stiles didn’t answer. In fact, he turned away from them all, stalking past where they’d all crowded and pulling open the back of his Jeep. He dragged out a blanket and draped it over Jackson’s unconscious body.

“Stiles,” Allison said. She’d put her knives away, and almost looked like the girl Derek had given a ride home.

He looked up at her and bit at his bleeding lip. “Blood traitor,” he said. “Your grandpa teach you that one yet, Ally? It’s not as Harry Potter as it sounds.”

Derek heard Chris curse softly under his breath.

Allison’s face crumbled, and suddenly Scott was at her side, holding her hand. “Oh my god.”

“Was that before or after he hooked Erica and Boyd up to a generator? Maybe it was after you asked him to come upstairs?”

His words sent Allison into a sob. “Oh my god, Stiles. You were—oh _god_.”

Stiles looked down again, shifted the blanket to cover a little more of Jackson’s shoulder. “Can somebody help me get Jackson in my Jeep?”

Isaac went running.

Derek didn’t move.

What was he supposed to do first? There was his new Beta, unconscious in Isaac’s arms. The pack member he’d been completely ignoring smelling like agony. Scott, the traitor. Both of the Argents. Gerard’s dead body. And Boyd and Erica, apparently running around in the dark somewhere after being electrocuted for hours.

In the end, Peter broke the silence for him, managing to sound nonchalant even with an icy voice. “You’re down to two there, Chris. I’m giving you a friendly warning right now. Back off, or I’ll finish what I started.”

That, of course, set Scott off. “She didn’t do anything!”

“She just got done holding a knife to your best friend’s throat, and sliced through Isaac’s spinal cord about five minutes ago,” Peter said. “A teenage boy. Her classmate.” He glared at Allison, meeting her eyes dead on. “Did you even think about it while you were carving him up? Shooting him? Did you even remember his name at the time? Or was he just dogmeat to you?”

Allison didn’t answer, just continued crying.

“Peter,” Derek finally said, calling him off. “We need to go find Erica and Boyd.”

He walked to the Jeep, ignoring Gerard’s body as he passed it. Stiles was sitting inside, Jackson in the backseat and Isaac in the passenger. He looked up at Derek with weary eyes when he got close.

“Is someone gonna tell me what happened here? With…him?” he asked. He poked Isaac’s arm, far more hestitantly than he used to. “Isaac’s just refusing to talk.”

Derek took a breath, ready to say exactly what Scott had done. Then, he stopped and looked over at Scott, who was muttering platitudes to Allison while shooting worried looks their way.

He was Stiles’ best friend. Only friend. His family.

“Scott…” Derek started. “Uh, you got what you wanted. We worked with Scott, and tricked Gerard into poisoning himself.”

Isaac stared at Derek in alarm, and Derek could hear Peter’s whispered, “ _What are you doing?_ ” from across the warehouse.

Stiles’ lips twitched. “Seriously? Nobody ripped anyone off or got in a fight? Scott didn’t do anything dumb?”

“No,” Derek lied. “It all went according to plan.”

The twitch turned into a smile. “That’s…Fuck, that’s awesome. I knew you guys had it in you. So, you’re one big, happy pack?”

“We decided that Scott’s better off on his own.”

Tentative, Isaac spoke up. “Like you said, Stiles, Scott just isn’t a pack kind of guy.”

Stiles’ face crashed back down, then shuttered and came back with an empty version of the same smile. “I get it. No use forcing it.”

“Exactly,” Derek said.

“I’m gonna take Jackson home, then,” Stiles said, pointing his thumb back at Jackson’s unconscious form. “Well, first to mine to get him some clothes and explain shit. Then to his. Pretty sure his parents are in the middle of a breakdown. Do you want me to take Isaac back to—” Stiles stopped, and looked over at the Argents. Even though there was no way he could be heard, he still said, “your place?”

Derek shook his head. “I need him, and I have the car.”

“Right,” Stiles’ smile grew ever tighter, and Derek wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“You’re not going to ask about Peter?” Isaac asked, climbing out of the Jeep. He stayed in Derek’s space but didn’t touch, leaning on the windowsill of the door.

Stiles shrugged. “Let me guess. He transferred his memories to Lydia, allowing him to pseudo-possess her? Then the night of Lydia’s party, he got all of us to trip balls so we wouldn’t stop him from doing some kind of fancy schmancy, werewolf-mystique ritual to bring himself back to life?”

Isaac gaped, but Derek sighed. “That’s pretty much it. You were right.”

Even that wasn’t enough to make the real smile come back. Stiles just nodded and leaned his head out the driver’s window. “Scott! Wanna ride?”

Scott looked between Stiles and Allison for a second, then called back,“I’m staying!”

At this point Stiles looked like he was about to shatter, he was so tense. “Got it. Cool. Okay, night guys. I hope you find Erica and Boyd soon. Uh, call me if you…want my help or something.”

Derek nodded. “Tell Jackson that I’ll be by tomorrow to talk to him.”

“Aye, aye…Derek.”

Stiles put the Jeep in reverse and turned it around to leave the building through the same hole he’d created entering it.

* * *

Getting Jackson out of the Jeep alone was significantly harder than just holding the seat back while Isaac did all the work. Especially since Jackson was all but naked, and Stiles was already sweating and trembling at the pain of stretching his torso so much.

After standing outside his car for five minutes, trying to remember if there was a wheelbarrow in the garage that he could use, Stiles just gave up and left Jackson in the backseat.

He ran into the house and found his dad sitting in the living room. “So?”

Stiles shrugged and smiled, “Mission accomplished. Jackson saved. Can I fill you in tomorrow instead?”

“I work the morning shift, so it’ll have to be the afternoon,” Noah stood up and reached out to pull Stiles into another hug. His nosed tickled Stiles’ scalp as he kissed his hair. “Get some sleep, okay? Proud of you.”

Following his dad up the stairs, Stiles waited until his dad’s room door closed, then pulled some clothes out of his dresser and left the house again. There was no reason to make his dad help get Jackson inside, especially not if he worked in the morning. After dressing Jackson for the second time, Stiles settled into the backseat beside him and curled up as best he could to wait.

— 

He fell asleep at some point and was woken up by sharp jabs from Jackson’s finger. A clawless finger, thank god.

“Stilinski…you wanna tell me what I’m doing in here? Did you kidnap me again?”

Stiles snorted and bit back a yawn. “Only kind of. I actually cured you. Well, I mean, Derek did. But it was my idea.”

He stretched to pop out the kinks in his shoulders, nearly knocking Jackson in the face with a wayward arm, and shoved the passenger seat down so he could pop the door and climb out. “You’re in the Jeep because I can’t carry you alone, and I didn’t wanna scar my dad with your hideously naked body. Come on, walk your happy ass into the house. You get bran cereal for breakfast, by the way.”

“Gross,” Jackson huffed, but he got out and followed Stiles almost obediently, which was a little creepy after what Jackson had spent a month and a half doing.

It took three tries to get Jackson to believe Stiles about being cured. The third time though, it stuck, and Stiles was crushed into a hug that made him yelp in pain, but at least it didn’t give him flashbacks. When Jackson finally pulled away, Stiles had an epiphany and began to snort.

“Oh man, oh my god, this is gonna be so funny,” he cackled.

Jackson scowled and shifted further away on the couch, snatching up his bowl of cereal to hold in front of him. “What? Dude, I know you’re gay, it’s not like it bugs me.”

Stiles just laughed harder and had to force himself to stop for the sake of his ribs. “Okay,” he panted, “First. I’m not gay. I’m bi. There’s a difference. Second, obviously it wouldn’t bug you. You’re bi too, dumbass. No one can be best friends with Danny and not be at least a little attracted to guys. He’s gorgeous. And third. Dude, Jackson, werewolves are _tactile_.”

Jackson’s face went on a lovely journey from the affrontedness of Stiles insinuating he was attracted to Danny, to the shock of learning that he’d been biologically rewired to like _platonic_ _cuddling_.

“No.”

“Yes. The next time you see Isaac, he’s probably gonna sniff you, because he sniffs everyone, and you’re gonna have the insane urge to hug him. You’re going to _hate_ it.” Stiles was on a roll, so he dished out some of his other Hale pack tips and tricks. It wasn’t like he needed them anymore. “Erica _will_ tackle-hug you. It’s pretty much all she knows. Boyd needs just as many hugs as the other ones. Just lean into the bro-ness, okay? And do _not_ , I repeat, do _not_ touch Derek.”

Jackson squinted. “Why not? Is he like, immune or something?”

“No, he just hates it. Like, no joke, actual hate. So don’t. Treat him like a fucking Hippogriff and let him come to you,” Stiles warned. Then, he grinned. “But do, I repeat, _do_ call him every variation of Captain or Sir that you can. It royally ticks him off.”

The smile faded as Stiles brought himself back to the main point. “Uh, right, so Fearless Leader wanted you to know he’ll be around your place sometime later today to talk to you and give you his usual ‘Me Alpha, you Beta’ schtick.”

Jackson grimaced and shifted around in his seat. “I’m not gonna be his lackey.”

“Yeah, you will,” Stiles corrected. “You’ll actually be his first lackey, technically. Though Isaac is always gonna be his favorite, and Boyd’s like the big brother that you have to listen to just as much as Derek.” He paused. “Jackson, it’s gonna be good. Seriously. They don’t have to like you to accept that you’re pack. They’re gonna have your back, _every time_.”

“Like they had yours?” Jackson asked. To Stiles’ surprise, it didn’t come out as a snipe.

Stiles looked Jackson over, from his hair hanging loose on his head instead of gelled into its quiff, to the sweatshirt and sweatpants he was borrowing from Stiles’ closet. He had his feet tucked underneath him and leaned into the back of the couch like he was desperate for the support.

“No,” Stiles muttered, picking up his own bowl. It was nearly empty, just the last crumbs from the bottom of the box soaking in milk and making something that looked a bit like porridge. “It’ll be better for you.”

Jackson was a werewolf. Derek never had any issues with the _werewolf_ members of his pack.

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Jackson spat, letting his bowl clatter as he put it back on the coffee table. “I still don’t get what’s so damn great about Derek, when he’s been yanking you around like _you’re_ the dog on a chain.”

Reaching out, Stiles smacked Jackson’s arm. “Stop it. It’s one thing to make a couple puppy jokes, but seriously, _don’t_ fuck with him. He doesn’t deserve it. I’m just not pack material, okay? It’s not worth it to fight him on it. He only let me back in because of Scott, and now that Scott’s out again, even if it was his choice, I’m just…you know. Done.”

Jackson quieted after that, letting Stiles fill him in on things that he’d missed, and not just the gruesome stuff either. Stiles gave him a detailed description of his short time on the field and the three goals he’d made, right alongside catching him up on homework.

“You seriously don’t remember any of your classes?”

“Dude, I barely remember what month it is.”

“April, man. Late April.”

“Right.”

Stiles dropped him off in front of his house with a last reminder about dropping that lousy restraining order, and to his shock, another hug. It was quickly followed by an uncharacteristically gentle cuff to the head, but it still happened.

“Go put some ice on your face, idiot,” Jackson said once he’d hopped out. “You look like a fucking grape.”

Flipping him off and going home, Stiles _did_ put ice on his face. And his shoulders, and his ribs, and his chest, and stomach. The ice packs he’d abandoned the night before had all miraculously found their way back into the freezer, so Stiles was able to lay down in his bed relatively pain free, so long as he didn’t move a muscle.

* * *

Derek returned to the house around dawn, empty handed, with Isaac and Peter lagging behind him. 

They’d followed Boyd and Erica’s scents on foot away from the Argent house into the Preserve. The stale trail was headed straight for the house, and Derek had harbored hope for a whole ten minutes, until the trail suddenly turned ninety degrees to the right and faded immensely, as though they’d sped up. It veered into the trees, farther and farther away from home, until it hit water and disappeared.

With three people, Derek was able to go across the river while sending Isaac and Peter down and upstream respectively, with orders to meet back at the spot in two hours or howl if they found Erica and Boyd. There was no howl, and when they joined up again no one had any other clues to follow.

As it turned out, one was waiting for them at the house. Derek stopped walking in the yard at the scent of fresh paint and put out a hand to keep Isaac back.

The front door had been marked, branded by black paint in a sharp distortion of a triskele. Instead of soothing spirals, it was just jagged branches stretching out from a triangle. They were violent right down to their artwork.

“Have you caught him up to this yet?” Peter asked, leaning against a tree.

Derek scowled and scented the area. Whichever one of them had done the paint job wasn’t one he’d met before. “It hasn’t come up. With so many Argents here, I thought I had more time.”

“What do you mean? What is this?” Isaac went up to the porch to look at the pack symbol closer. “It’s like yours.”

“No,” Derek said.

“Yes,” Peter said, at the same time.

Derek glared at him. “No, it’s not. They are nothing like us.”

“Who’s they?” Isaac asked, a hint of growl to his tone.

They were all tired and frustrated, so Derek didn’t mince words. “The Alphas. A pack of them.”

“They’ve come because of your new Alpha, mini-me,” Peter said. “There hasn’t been a Hale pack in this town for six years. Deucalion must be mighty curious about who’s taken up Talia’s mantle.”

A few things clicked into place, and Derek cursed. “Erica and Boyd told me they heard wolves. I thought it was a couple Omegas.”

Isaac swallowed. “You don’t think…you don’t think they took them?”

Peter sighed. “Oh, we don’t have to think. This is as good as written confession. The Alphas have Erica and Boyd, and they want us to know it.”

“Then we’re going to have to get them back,” Derek said. “But right now, we need sleep. They aren’t pulling and the bonds are still there. They’re alive, and relatively safe. We can look for them again later.”

Reeking of sadness, Isaac pushed open the door and padded up the stairs to the bedroom. In its doorway, he whined softly, probably at the fading scents of his packmates.

Derek headed up the porch, but paused when Peter hummed at him.

“Derek, you can’t stay here,” he warned. “Not only is it disgusting, it’s also far too exposed.”

“I know,” Derek sighed. “I’ve been looking for a place for a while though, and without the Argents coming after us, I can finally pick one.”

But Peter didn’t let up. “And then, there’s Stiles.”

“Not now.”

“He saved Jackson’s life last night,” Peter reminded him. “And before that, he was tortured by Gerard for being your pack. Blood traitor isn’t a term for just any human.”

Derek groaned and shoved into the house. “I’m aware of that, thank you. I’ll deal with it _later._ ”

When Peter scowled and walked into the living room to collapse on the loveseat, Derek couldn’t even bring himself to care. He just went up to his own mattress and dropped on it. As soon as they’d rested, it was back to searching.

* * *

Things had been so weirdly quiet in the week before the big showdown that Stiles didn’t actually have anything to do on Saturday night. No homework to catch up on, no plans to make, nothing left to explain to his dad. He’d already called Lydia to let her know that Jackson was okay, and she’d bolted from her house _while_ on the phone with him, only remembering to hang up once she got in her car.

Since moving was painful, Stiles was just on his bed, laptop propped against his knees and slowly roasting the skin underneath it while he flicked through YouTube videos. He was halfway through an hour long walkthrough on antique painting conservation and restoration when someone knocked on the window.

“Allison, full offense, but I _really_ don’t want to talk to you right now,” he called, not bothering to pause the video.

The window scraped as it was pulled upward and Stiles slammed his laptop closed and chucked his headphones off to the foot of the bed. “Allison! I said—”

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Stiles cut off at seeing the wrong person in front of him. It wasn’t Allison that’d climbed into his room, it was Derek.

Stiles took one look at Derek’s tense form, arms crossed and all, and grabbed his phone from the blanket. No missed messages or calls to indicate Derek had been trying to get ahold of him. “What did I miss? Did you find them? Are they okay? Can I help?”

“No, we didn’t find them, but we—I’m not here to talk about Erica and Boyd,” Derek said.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Why not? They’re priority one right now, aren’t they?” He shifted on the bed, pushing his laptop away and turning to put his feet on the floor. The movement stretched his bruised sides, but he ignored it. “I already told my dad to try looking for them again. He put in a tip about them being sighted somewhere near the Argent’s place to get a few officers searching.”

As Stiles tried to get up, suddenly Derek was moving forward, arms out in front of him and making like he was going to grab Stiles. Even though he _knew_ it was ridiculous, Stiles still flinched and stayed on the bed. He flinched again when Derek’s whole demeanor changed; his hands curled into fists, and he took a step back.

“Sorry,” Derek muttered.

It was the first time he’d ever apologized to Stiles, and Stiles hated it. “It’s no big deal.” He forced a tense shrug. “I’m just a little jumpy. It’s nothing.”

Derek frowned, and one hand stretched before re-curling. “Stiles, no it’s not. I can smell how injured you are.”

Glaring, Stiles shoved himself to his feet. “I’m _fine_. Tell me about Boyd and Erica.”

“No, you’re _not_ ,” Derek snapped. “And I told you, I didn’t come here to talk about them. I’ve been yelled at three times today to come see you, so would you stop hurting yourself and sit _down_?”

Stiles sat. “Wha—who yelled at you? Someone _yelled_ at you and it wasn’t me? I missed it?”

Derek huffed a dry laugh. “Literally everyone has yelled at me. Isaac and Peter wouldn’t let me leave the house until they were done, and when I got to Jackson’s he spent ten minutes ripping into me before he would listen to a word I said. If Erica and Boyd were here they would’ve yelled at me too.”

“Uh, why?” Stiles asked. “What’d you do?”

“A lot, apparently,” Derek sniped. Then, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. With one hand, he snagged Stiles’ computer chair and swung it around so he could sit on it backwards with his arms propped over the back. “A lot. Stiles, tell me what happened with Gerard.”

The anger was flaring up again, making Stiles want to do some of his own yelling, but he’d barely opened his mouth to start when Derek added, “Please.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”

Stiles turned his head away to glare at his bookshelf and squeezed his comforter with both hands. “It was nothing. He was just trying to rile Scott up. He had Erica and Boyd in the basement, all strung up with tape and wires. I tried to let them out, but I didn’t think to turn the damn current off.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Derek shake his head and repeat, “I’m not here to talk about Erica and Boyd, Stiles.”

“Then there’s nothing else to tell you.”

“I know what a blood traitor is,” Derek said. “He wouldn’t call you that for being _friends_ with a werewolf.”

The lump in Stiles’ throat made him angry, but he just shrugged and decided to look through Derek instead of at him. “Fine, he couldn’t decide whether it was supposed to be for Scott or for you. The…message. He kept insisting that I was your pack and that you’d be just as pissed as Scott. His mistake, right?”

“No,” Derek said quietly. “He was right. If you came to me right after, I would’ve tried to rip his throat out.”

“Well, duh,” Stiles scoffed. “He had Erica and Boyd.”

Derek growled. “No, because he hurt _you_.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” Stiles dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “It’s my own fault anyway. He wasn’t planning to mess me up this bad until I made a few…comments…about his golden girl. And, sorry, but I called you my Alpha. Heat of the moment or whatever.” Stiles shook his head. “He _really_ didn’t like that.”

The wide-eyed blinking was unexpected, and Stiles blinked back for a second before asking, “What?”

“You…you insulted Kate? You insulted Kate to Gerard’s _face_?”

“Well, I had to keep him distracted somehow, and that pedophilic arsonist deserved it.” Just thinking about her made him shudder in disgust.

Across from him, Derek had pulled his arms back off the chair and his face had gone a ghastly white. He was still staring at Stiles, but leaning slowly away, a lot like Isaac had when Stiles had scared him.

Stiles’ throat tightened when he put together Derek’s reaction. “Derek, I…I know.”

In a snap, Stiles’ desk chair was banging into his door and Derek was heaving big breaths. His eyes were flickering between red and hazel, and Stiles could see his claws lengthening, but not an inch of Derek displayed anger. It was all fear.

“Derek,” Stiles rushed, standing up and putting a hand out. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t—I’m not gonna tell anyone. I mean,” he winced, “some of the stuff I said was maybe not as vague as it should’ve been with Erica and Boyd there, but I never said your name or anything.”

When Derek came at him it was with fangs and claws, and somehow that made it not so scary. Or maybe it was just because this was Derek. His fingers ripped through Stiles’ shirt and dragged him close as he growled. “How? When?”

Instinctively, Stiles grabbed at Derek’s wrist, even though there was no chance he’d be able to make him let go. “I—I just figured it out. It was a lot of stuff. When you heard the hunter who shot you was a chick, you got way more freaked out. You were weirdly pissed about Scott and Allison dating, and Allison had that pendant, but it turns out it used to be Kate’s. Once I knew she’d started the fire…it just sort of made sense.”

“ _When_?” Derek snarled, pulling harder on Stiles’ shirt until he had to rise up onto his toes to avoid being choked.

“The night Peter died!” Stiles squeezed Derek’s wrist and tried to pull at it. “That’s why I went to the damn house. I thought if I was fast enough I could tell Peter that the police knew Kate was the one who set the fire and he’d _stop_. Look how well that turned out.”

Derek dropped Stiles, and Stiles went back to the bed, more for Derek’s sake than his own. Derek looked like a bombshell had been dropped on him. “You knew this _entire_ time?”

“Yes?”

When Stiles didn’t get a response, he shuffled back on his mattress, far enough to cross his legs, and picked at the tears in his shirt. He hadn’t meant to freak Derek out or blow his mind, or whatever the hell was happening.

“Why did you ask to join my pack?” Derek looked slightly better, no longer shifted, but still abnormally pale.

Stiles groaned down at his legs. “I have a better question. Why the fuck did you let me?” He looked up. “Huh? Why? What was even the point, when you so _obviously_ didn’t want me from the start? Why didn’t you just kick me out and go back to your stupid brooding?”

Derek met his eyes. “I was using you.”

“Yeah? And?” Stiles said. “That was supposed to be the point. That I’d keep you from going nuts. But I wasn’t anywhere _near_ you and you did fine, so clearly you didn’t really need me for that.”`

“No,” Derek sighed. Stiles saw his gaze flicker over to the chair he’d shoved, but he didn’t move. “I was using you for Scott. I wanted him, and I thought having you in the pack would convince him to join me. I let you in because I wanted to make you get me Scott. And I did need you to keep me in control, especially after Jackson’s bond disappeared.”

Stiles’ chest hurt worse than when Greenburg had accidentally stepped on him and he’d had to lay on the bench for the rest of practice. “Right…well, good. I mean, I said I wanted to help, so…”

“And then,” Derek continued, “when I went to bite Isaac, you made him more comfortable. I thought you would be useful in keeping him under control, like you had Scott.”

That was what Stiles had wanted, wasn’t it? To be useful? So, why did he want Derek to shut up all of a sudden? “I don’t need a play-by-play of my downward spiral in usefulness, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore anyway, since Scott’s out. I’m out too, and it’s fine.” He shook his head and rolled his shoulders to settle himself. “You were here for the Gerard stuff, right? Well, you got it. Goodnight.”

“No, god, would you just shut up and listen to me? You actually think that Peter, Isaac, and _Jackson_ would yell at me for not getting the details on Gerard from you?” Derek snapped. “No, they’re pissed about _you_.”

“ _Me?_ ” Stiles gaped. Derek’s glare stopped his impending questions point blank.

“ _Yes_ , goddamnit. Look, just—you’re pack. Alright? You have been since the night you asked.”

The silence in the room was deafening, but Stiles was happy to break it with a shout. “Are you fucking _joking_ , right now?”

He waited and a few seconds later Derek seemed to realize he was actually supposed to answer. “No. You’ve always been pack. The bond has been there the whole time. You were never actually ‘out.’ And as for Scott, you’re not a package deal, Stiles. The bond is between you and the pack, not you and Scott.”

“Screw the bond,” Stiles spit. “I’ve been asking you since day one what a pack was even supposed to be. What the hell it meant. You never answered, but I know enough that you’re supposed to _trust_ them. Right? Pack are people you trust. If I were pack, you would trust me, _right_? And you never have. Not from day one. You didn’t even tell me you’d bitten Jackson.”

“That wasn’t—”

“Quiet!” Stiles put up a finger. “I literally can’t remember how many times you’ve warned me away from your pack, only to come after me later so I could do you a favor. _That_ doesn’t make me pack. You get that, right? You get that asking someone for favors and threatening them when they come near you any other time isn’t _pack_? And it’s _stupid_ , and I _know_ it’s stupid. But I’m still helping. And I’m gonna keep helping.”

He swallowed hard and forced himself to finish, because if he was going to spill his guts, he was only gonna do it once. “I’m gonna keep helping you, and you don’t have to fix my car or tell me I’m pack to make me do it. Because you—you told me to give a fuck, and I _trusted_ you and I did. And now I can’t stop giving a fuck about those fucking wolves. I don’t know _how_ , Derek. Once I—when I decide I care, that’s it. I can’t just turn it on and off every time you get pissed at me. I don’t know how. I’m gonna keep feeding Isaac when he comes over, and when you get Erica and Boyd back I’m gonna keep hanging out with them every chance I get. Hell, I’ll hug _Jackson_ if he asks for it. And every time you show up bloody or asking for help, I’m gonna give it to you. So, just _stop_ telling me I’m pack, when I know I’m not.”

Derek didn’t move, or even look at Stiles. He just stood there glaring at the floor. “There aren’t supposed to be humans in werewolf packs. Bitten wolves are bad enough, but humans are unacceptable.”

Stiles tensed. “But, you said—”

“Bastian was Peter’s kid. His wife, Prue, was human. The _only_ human. My mom nearly kicked him out when she found out they’d gotten married.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re weak. You’re soft and easy to kill. When you get hurt it lasts for ages. You get sick all the time. You’re idiots who wouldn’t know a werewolf if it bit you. We looked down on you, and my mom used to say that letting humans run the world was like letting a toddler be in charge. We were just humoring you until we got tired of it.”

Stiles gulped. “Uh, that’s not nightmare inducing at all.”

Derek ignored him. “Prue was so _soft_. She got papercuts that hurt for days, and when she got colds I was sure she was gonna die. I didn’t get why Peter would marry someone so easy to kill, who couldn’t protect herself. He kept telling me I was underestimating humans. Eventually, when I saw that Prue just _kept going_ once she’d gotten hurt, laughing off something that would sting for ages and shrugging at having to sit in her room all day coughing, I started to believe him. I figured all humans couldn’t be so damn _fragile_. That maybe they were worth _trusting_ because they weren’t all going to die on us. And then I met Kate.”

It felt like the beginning of a story, but Stiles knew it was the end. Honestly, that was all that needed said. Derek thought humans weren’t a threat, just easy to bruise, and then he met Kate.

“So, what am I then?” He folded his hands in his lap, twiddling his fingers. “Fragile, or evil?”

“I don’t _fucking_ know,” Derek hissed. “You’re just…there. I can’t get rid of you. I tried. I let you into my pack and now _they_ won’t let go of you. I don’t know what you did to them, but everyone else trusts you and I keep trying to break the pack bond, but you just keep being _there_. Doing pack things. Protecting them, providing for them. You were always pack to them. Peter knew you were pack material the night you locked him in the high school basement.”

Stiles shoved that little tidbit away to freak out about later. “So, what are you doing with me?”

Derek sagged, his shoulders drooping and the fists at his sides relaxing. “I told you. You’re pack. End of story, no more in and out bullshit.”

Ignoring the pounding of his own heart, Stiles smirked. “Swearing’s a good look on you, Alpha. You seem a lot less tense.”

“Shut up,” Derek said, no heat to be found. “Now, let me help with your pain. The smell is killing me.”

Holding out a wrist, Stiles smiled. “I could never say no to pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, some Writer's Notes:  
> I noticed in the first season that there was a surprising amount of attention from the hunters on Stiles, in much the same way as there was toward Jackson as they started to think _he_ was the second Beta. I firmly believe that they were considering Stiles as possibly being the Beta as well, and Kate didn't get the chance to explain to her dad who the second Beta _actually_ was, which is why Gerard did the whole weird interrogation thing when Stiles and Scott got sent to his office.  
> I headcanon very strongly that Peter could feel this terror/pack bond stuff while Derek was being tortured, and that's why he was so panicked about finding Derek. Other than the general murdery plans.  
> Oh, and I had Peter say that he 'stashed' the laptop, bc I don't care if it was in a box, that laptop couldn't have been there before the fire without getting Ruined.  
> Yeah, I made Second's a thing, fight me. It's awesome and Boyd is wonderful. Also, I miss him.  
> I really felt like Gerard just showing up and no one noticing needed to be addressed, just a little bit, you know? Handwavy "I have tricks you wouldn't believe" is still better than not acknowledging it at all. Not to mention it was total bullshit that Derek wouldn't have known Gerard was dying but Scott would.  
> Look, I think young love is as beautiful and powerful as the next person, but I really didn't enjoy it as a 'solution' to Jackson's issues. Jackson IS loved. He's very _clearly_ loved by his adoptive parents. Saying that he needs to know someone loves him in order to resolve having lost his bio parents at birth doesn't make sense to me. This, this made sense. He can know that his adoptive parents love him and still not feel like he _belongs_ with them. Like he's accepted by them. It's not about love, it's about acceptance.  
> Plus that whole 'kill him _after_ he's been brought to his senses" thing made no sense to me.
> 
> AHHH. It's done. It's over. It's finished. Oh GOD. I don't even know what to say. This has been so much fun to post, and I feel so loved with all the comments and kudos that this fic has been getting. You guys are wonderful and every comment you leave, _especially_ those long, rambly ones, makes me so damn happy.  
> I know what you're all wondering, and _yes_ I'm continuing this series. I was going to try and make the next section I post a bit of a surprise, but I think I'd prefer to just tell you what I'm doing?  
> Rather than jumping into S3, I'll be posting a Summer fic, covering the happenings of the summer, those mystical months that we don't get to see in canon. I'm having a really good time with it, and I'm hoping that it'll turn out as well as I'm imagining. It _won't_ be anywhere as long as these two seasons have been, no more than like 40k?  
> But, I'm nowhere near done with it, and I'm starting a part-time job on Monday that'll be sucking up my writing time. To give myself ample time to write it and get started on S3, I'm going to be taking another hiatus of about three months. ~~That means the first posting of the Summer piece will be on 12/12/2020.~~  
>  Note: This is subject to change. If I decide I need more time, I may need to push it back.  
> If you want to be notified when the new posting goes up, please subscribe to this series. If you want to see when _any_ of my fics go up, subscribe to my account here on Ao3. If you want to come hang with me and obsess over sterek together, head over to my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/).  
> HUGE thanks to my lovely beta [Madeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardbuckley/) for not only helping me every step of the way as I wrote this, but also doing a reread of every chapter for me before I posted it. <3 <3
> 
> **EDIT: The date of posting is being pushed back! The new posting date is 12/31/2020. Consider it a 'Fuck 2020" New Year's Eve gift.**

**Author's Note:**

> As with the first season, chapters will be posted once a week.  
> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) where I'm obsessed with these idiots 24/7. And please let me know what you think in the comments! If you have any questions I'd be happy to try and answer them (without spoiling anything, of course)


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